


The History Books Forgot About Us

by MaryEvH



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, POV Enjolras, POV Éponine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 71,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEvH/pseuds/MaryEvH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York City, 1931. Richard Enjolras, Jr. is fresh out of law school, trying to make a name for himself in the Big Apple. Sparks fly when he meets pretty bartender Éponine Thénardier…but what happens when he finds out she might have something to hide? E/É 1931 AU, rated T for language, sexual content, and alcohol usage/references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Her

He pulled open the door of the small building that contained the Whitehorse Tavern, his favorite in New York City. Inside, there appeared to be only a small general store. He casually walked up to the counter and said to the associate, “The streets are quiet tonight.”

“Back room,” the man murmured.

He pulled open the door, and the familiar smells of alcohol and a slight bit of dust filled his nose. He breathed in deeply, smiling to himself. This was an old tavern, the second oldest in New York City, and he loved it. It was a classy place, not like a lot of the bars around town that were more like brothels. He’d been coming here with his father since he before was old enough to drink, just to drive home when his father got drunk. But tonight, he was on his own – just out of law school, trying to make a name for himself, and desperate for a drink.

“Ah, Richard!” Mac, the owner, greeted him at the door, a broad smile on his face. He was in his mid-fifties, with a large belly, a bald head, and always smiling. He’d been a family friend for as long as the younger Richard Enjolras had been alive, and was one of the few people who could get away with calling him Richard, besides his father. “Good to see you again. Are you by yourself tonight?”

“For tonight, yes,” the young man answered, shrugging off his overcoat. “I’m almost 30 years old, I think my father will understand if I want to have a drink on my own,” he laughed.

Mac smiled. “I know you just graduated from law school, Richard, so this is my gift to you. Have as much as you want tonight, on the house,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Mac, I can’t possibly – ”

“I insist!” the portly man laughed. “Go on, son; you know right where the bar is. And that reminds me, I have someone to introduce to you,” he added as they approached the bar. “Éponine!”

Enjolras followed the man’s gaze to the bar, where a pretty young woman was wiping out a glass. She looked to be about his age, or a little younger, with bright eyes and a pretty smile. Her dark hair was tied back into a bun, and she wore a black apron over her dress. “Yes, sir?”

“This young gentleman is a good friend of ours,” Mac grinned, clapping him on the back again. “He just graduated from law school, so anything he drinks is on us tonight!”

Enjolras looked down, grinning and shaking his head as Mac walked away. “Don’t listen to him; I’ll pay,” he insisted in a low voice as soon as the man was out of earshot.

The girl chuckled, tucking back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. “Well, I don’t think it’d be wise for me to disobey my new boss on my first night,” she murmured back, still grinning.

He grinned back. “I didn’t think I’d seen your face around here before; I’ve been coming here for years. Richard Enjolras,” he said, extending a hand. “Call me Enjolras.”

“Éponine Jondrette,” she said, shaking it with a charming smile. “Call me Éponine,” she added with a laugh.

He grinned. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Jondrette.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” she laughed. “Can I get you anything?”

He pondered for a moment. “Ahh…bourbon,” he decided, unable to wipe that stupid smile off his face every time he looked at her.

“Coming right up,” she grinned back, setting down the freshly cleaned highball class. “You know…you’re the first customer I’ve actually been able to talk to,” she said, carefully pouring in the bourbon and setting the glass down in front of him. “The others that have come in tonight have just been so…stoic.”

He swirled the drink a little. “Not your type either?” he asked, taking a small sip.

“Not particularly,” she said with a small chuckle. “That’s the thing about working as a bartender – you kinda turn into an unlicensed therapist by default.”

He took another drink, holding the bourbon in his mouth for a split second before he swallowed. “I’m a lawyer; on some level, I understand your pain,” he answered dryly. “Also, when did Mac get this bourbon? This stuff is fantastic.”

“That would be courtesy of yours truly!” she grinned, taking a small bow. “My father had me mixing drinks at his bar once I was tall enough to see over the counter. That’s his favorite kind. When Mac hired me, I decided to bring it over, give it a try.”

His grin grew wider. “I knew I liked you, Éponine Jondrette,” he laughed. “Your taste in bourbon is excellent.”

“Well, thank you, Richard Enjolras,” she laughed. “Be right with you, sir,” she called to the gentleman who had just sat down at the bar, before leaning in close to him. “Important question…favorite whiskey?” she murmured.

“Jack Daniels, of course,” he murmured back, taking a slower drink of his bourbon.

She grinned. “Good man. I’ll be back,” she said, before walking down the bar to take the other man’s order. Enjolras grinned to himself, swirling the liquor in his glass as he took another drink.

“Éponine…” he murmured, almost tasting the name on his tongue. “Éponine Jondrette…”

“Richard!” he heard Mac’s voice. “I see you and my new bartender have taken a liking to each other, eh?”

Enjolras chuckled. “She’s a charming young woman, to be certain.”

Mac chuckled again. “I know how you are with charming young women, Richard,” he teased, slapping him on the back again. “You’re starting to get a reputation as a bit of a heartbreaker around New York City.”

“Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?” Enjolras laughed.

Mac raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “You, a charming young woman, a bottle or two of wine…people start to think you get the pretty ones in bed for a night and then leave them.”

“That was years ago. I’m a changed man, Mac,” he said almost immediately. “I’m almost 30; I know how to act like an adult. Especially around women.”

The older man reached over the bar and poured himself a drink. “All the same…you have to be careful with the charming ones, no matter who you are,” he said, taking a swig and walking away.

* * *

Enjolras hung around the bar and chatted with Éponine for several more hours. They cracked jokes together, good-naturedly squabbled about different kinds of alcohol, and giggled about Mac’s silly mannerisms when he wasn’t watching. Unless she was taking care of another customer’s order, there was never a moment of lag in the conversation. Enjolras almost felt like he was flirting with her, but not in the way he used to flirt with women. He had no ulterior motives, no agenda, no design on her…they were just talking, and it was fine that way.

Éponine yawned as traffic started to slow down. “What time is it?”

Enjolras pulled out his pocketwatch and clicked open the lid. “Half past eleven,” he answered, putting it away. “When do you get off?”

“Midnight,” she answered, suppressing another yawn.

He chuckled as he watched her try to shake it off. “Are you sure you’re gonna make it that long? I can make some coffee back at my place and bring it over here for you, if you want.”

She smiled gratefully. “You’d be my angel if you did, Enjolras.”

The young lawyer grinned – he was suddenly thankful for the dark lighting that covered his blush – and pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Give me about 10 minutes,” he said, walking away from the bar.

“I’ll be here!” she laughed.

It seemed like seconds before he returned to the bar, carefully carrying a mug of liquid energy. “Here you are,” he smiled as her hands wrapped around it. “Fair warning, I brew my coffee strong,” he laughed.

Éponine sighed in relief as she took it from him, taking a small sip. Her long, thin fingers cradled the mug tightly, and smiled. “It’s perfect. You really are a saint, Enjolras,” she said.

“That’s not something lawyers hear said about them a lot,” he laughed, sitting back down in front of her. She grinned at him over her coffee as she took another drink, but didn’t say anything. When she kept quietly staring at him, Enjolras finally remarked on it. “What?”

She set the mug down gently before answering. “It’s just…odd to me, that we’ve known each other for a few hours and you offer to make me coffee when I’m clearly not going to stay awake until the end of my shift. I feel like…not a lot of people would be that generous to an almost-complete stranger,” she murmured, looking away and taking another drink of the coffee as she awkwardly finished.

Enjolras hesitated a moment, before gently placing his big hand over her small, thin one on the bar. “It was nothing, Éponine,” he said softly with a gentle smile. “I’m always happy to help, in any way I can.”

A full smile spread out over her lips. “That means more to me than you know,” she whispered. The clock behind them struck midnight right as she spoke. “Ah, finally! I get to go home and rest,” she said, gently pulling her hand from his to put the liquor bottles away. Enjolras felt almost a slight tingle on his palm when the contact ended, and almost thought he felt a chill down his spine. However, he brushed it off and smiled as he watched her.

“Things can get dangerous in this part of town at this time of night,” he remarked. “Want me to walk you home?”

She chuckled again. “You mean it, don’t you?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’ll help in any way you can,” she said. “No one’s ever promised me that before.”

Enjolras smiled. “I absolutely mean it. Now come on, let’s get you home.” Éponine smiled back as she hung up her apron, putting on her coat and coming around the bar. He offered an arm, which she took, and they walked out the front door, waving to Mac as they left. “Now, which way are we going?”

“My apartment’s on West 10th, so we’re not actually going too far,” she laughed, squeezing his arm a little tighter as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

He nodded. “Well, the sooner we get you home, the more time you have to sleep,” he grinned. They chatted all the way to her apartment, going up the rickety metal stairs to her second-floor door. It was too brief, he thought, and he wished he didn’t have to say goodbye to her so soon. Something about her personality captivated him, and the more time he spent with her, the closer he was to figuring it out.

“Thanks for walking me home, Enjolras,” she said a little shyly, jerking him out of his reverie.

“My pleasure,” he said, smiling. “Hey, Éponine…” he started to say, suddenly not in control of his mouth. “Would you…like to have dinner with me sometime this week? I’d ask if you want a drink, but my guess would be you’re probably kinda sick of the bar scene.” She chuckled nervously, biting her lip and looking down at her shoes. Afraid he’d crossed a line, Enjolras quickly started to backtrack. “If you don’t want to…”

“No, no, I do,” she said quickly. “It’s…just…”

He paused. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’d love to,” she smiled.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, smiling back. “Does Friday night work for you? I can pick you up around 5:30.”

“Sounds perfect,” she grinned. “I’ll see you then,” she said, opening the door. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight, Éponine.”

* * *

Her smile was gone as soon as she closed the door. She leaned against it, sighing heavily as she listened to his footsteps retreating. Slowly, she let herself sink to the floor, holding her knees to her chest and trying not to cry as she started to rock back and forth. There was so much he didn’t know…so much she felt obligated to tell him…

_But the truth would break his heart…_

_What makes you think his heart would break, Éponine? He could be just like the rest, pretending to give a damn about you so he can throw you by the wayside later. What makes this fancy lawyer any different? You’d just be a toy, a pretty thing on his arm for a little while, and then he’ll be gone._

She shook her head to clear it, standing up and going to the back of her small apartment. She refused to think about it. Not now.  
Éponine hung her overcoat in the bedroom closet with the other coats, trying to think about something other than Richard Enjolras…but when she stopped and thought about it, he was the most memorable part of her first night on the job. He stuck around all night, even when he wasn’t drinking, just to talk to her. He seemed so…genuine, someone she could actually get to know. Maybe he was different after all…

_We’ll see on Friday night at 5:30, I suppose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed the formatting!


	2. Dating Her

Éponine put the finishing touches on her makeup as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. It was Friday night, 5:00 in the evening, and she was about to go out to dinner with Richard Enjolras. She was thankful that she had the day off; she wouldn’t smell like a bar on their date.

_Oh my God…this is a date. I’m going on a date. With a lawyer._

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing nerves, and smoothed the front of her long red dress. Everything was going to be fine. All she had to do was breathe…right? Éponine paused and put a trembling hand to her forehead. She was an absolute fool to do this; she was hardly the sort of girl that someone like Richard Enjolras should be spending time with, let alone having dinner with. She was just grateful that he would never find out the truth…

_He can’t find out. I won’t let him._

The last half hour raced by, and before she knew it – before she was ready for it – she heard a knock on the front door of her apartment. “Coming!” she called, crossing herself quickly before opening the door. There he was, in the same suit and tie as the last time she’d seen him on Wednesday. “Hello, Enjolras,” she smiled.

“Hello, Éponine,” he smiled. “You look beautiful.”

She looked down at her shoes, trying to hide her blush as she grinned. “Thank you,” she said when she regained the courage to meet his eyes. She was thankful that his smile never faltered.

“Ready to go?” he asked kindly.

Éponine nodded and stepped out the door, locking it behind her. As soon as she turned around, he offered her an arm, and together, they walked down the steps to the sidewalk to his car. “So…where are we going?” she asked with a smile.

Enjolras grinned. “The Stork Club, over on West 58th,” he said, clearly excited. “It’s only a couple of years old, and it’s already one of the nicest places in the city. My father and I were taking clients to dinner there when I was still in law school, as soon as it opened,” he laughed. “I really think you’ll like it.”

She was immediately alarmed, but did her best to maintain her composure. “It sounds fantastic,” she said, barely managing to smile. Her heart was racing, and she did her best to keep her breathing steady, willing her palms to keep from clamming up.

“Éponine? Are you well?” he asked, clearly concerned.

She swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” she said, hoping her smile would be enough to convince him. “Just a little jittery,” she chuckled. _I hope we’re almost to the car…_

Enjolras frowned for a moment, but relaxed when they got to the car. “Alright…well, it’s not a long drive from here, so you’ll be able to eat something soon. That’ll do you some good,” he said, opening her door. She smiled at him again as she got in the car – it was a Model A, and she could tell from the smell of the leather that it was a new one. _This is just even more proof that he’s out of my league…God, why am I doing this…?_

She folded her hands in her lap, looking down as Enjolras got in and started the car. He frowned again to himself as he looked at her – she was clearly nervous, which was completely understandable, but he could tell that wasn’t all…he racked his brains as he turned the corner towards West 58th. She looked…almost like she’d rather be somewhere else…like she didn’t want to be with him. The thought gave him an antsy feeling, and he didn’t like it. He was quietly thankful that it wasn’t a long drive to West 58th from her apartment.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again, reaching out to put a hand on her arm as he drove. “You look ill.”

Éponine nodded again. _Stubborn as ever, this one,_ he thought to himself. “I’m fine, Enjolras,” she answered. “I think you’re right, though…I should eat something,” she said, half to herself. “I haven’t eaten a lot today, come to think of it.”

“Well, you’re in luck…we’re here,” Enjolras answered with a smile, stopping the car in front of the door. “Ready?” She took a deep breath, before smiling and nodding. “In that case, stay right there,” he laughed as he got out of the car, coming around to open her door, offering her his arm again as he closed and locked the door. Éponine noticed she was trying hard to keep herself from squeezing the life out of his arm as he walked up and opened the door, ushering her in first.

She took in her surroundings as she timidly stepped in the door, Enjolras shutting it behind them. Smoke filled the air, and a grainy record somewhere was playing an upbeat jazz tune. All around, she heard silverware and plates clinking, a low murmur of constant chatter, punctuated by the occasional laugh from one table or another.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Stork Club,” a gentleman at the door said. “How may I help you?”

“Good evening,” Enjolras answered, letting Éponine take his arm again; she felt much more secure when he did. “I have a reservation for two under Richard Enjolras.”

The young man checked his list and smiled. “Right this way, sir, miss,” he said, unhooking a golden chain and ushering them into a back room, filled with more tables and people. Éponine was shocked at the sheer size of the room – she had never been in such a big place, outside of a bar.

“Good evening, please follow me to your seats,” a waiter said as he appeared from nowhere to guide them through the smoky room to a small table that rested against the wall. Enjolras pulled out Éponine’s chair, allowing her to take a seat first. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Éponine said, managing a shy smile.

“Same for me,” Enjolras said.

“Very good. I’ll have those as soon as possible,” the waiter smiled, walking away from them as Enjolras grinned at Éponine.

“So what do you think?” he murmured. “Like it so far?”

Éponine hardly knew what to say. “It’s…wow,” she laughed. “This is really spectacular.”

Enjolras’ grin grew wider. “I knew you’d like it. Oh, also…don’t look for too long, but Charlie Chaplin’s over my left shoulder; he’s having dinner with Clark Gable,” he added coolly, scanning the menu. “I noticed them when we came in.”

Her jaw dropped, and Enjolras could hardly keep himself from laughing. She looked back and forth from him to the two men at another smoky table on the other side of the room, her face still a picture of shock. “Wha… _that’s Charlie Chaplin??”_ she hissed in disbelief. “We’re eating dinner in the same room as _Charlie Chaplin??”_

The lawyer across the table was now grinning ear-to-ear, clearly quite proud of his spotting. “Pretty cool, huh? My father and I have seen quite a few high-profile people here before. For a while, we had a competition going to see which of us could spot more celebrities here. I got pretty good at it,” he winked.

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Enjolras?” she grinned.

“Perhaps,” he grinned back as the waiter returned, setting their drinks on the table. “The question is, would you accept a challenge of the sort, were it issued to you?”

She contemplated her answer. “Hmm…perhaps,” she winked back.

The rest of the date flew by, and neither of them could stop smiling and laughing all through dinner or dessert. Éponine managed to spot Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi before they left; she and Enjolras were about to start putting money on who would be able to spot more people! He was glad to see her transformation throughout the course of the evening. Enjolras much preferred to be around the Éponine that he’d met at the bar – always smiling, laughing, ready with a good joke at just the right time.

He’d told himself before he picked her up that he wouldn’t ask her out on another date, but when he was walking her back up the stairs to her apartment, his mouth betrayed him again. “Hey, Éponine…” he started again, the same as last time.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the New York Philharmonic is pairing up with the New York City Ballet to perform Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite,” he said. “It’s a really incredible piece. One of my favorites, actually. My father and I are going to see it next Thursday night…and I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.”

Éponine paused for a moment to consider. This evening had gone really well, much better than she expected…and his proposition now sounded like nothing more than sitting in a concert hall and enjoying an hour or so of good music and ballet. _Can’t go too badly…_ “Sure, sounds great,” she smiled. “I’ll ask Mac for the night off.”

Enjolras’ grin only grew. “Perfect. I’ll see you around, Éponine,” he said. She smiled, and to her surprise, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight,” he smiled.

She was too taken aback to respond for a moment. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” she managed to say coherently, even managing a smile, before walking into her apartment and closing the door, squealing with delight when she thought he couldn’t hear. He chuckled to himself as he jogged down the steps back to his car, already anticipating the next Thursday night.

_What is it about her…or is it me?_


	3. Liking Her

“Mr. Enjolras, your son is here to see you,” the secretary said as she cracked the office door ajar.

“Send him in,” Richard Enjolras Sr. said from the other side of the door, shuffling the various papers on his desk. It was a busy Monday for the offices of Enjolras and Combeferre, Attorneys at Law – both men had several criminal cases on the local dockets, and they had to be in court for each one. Mr. Enjolras was prosecuting a thief by the name of Thénardier, and while he predicted it would be an easy case to win, he was always wary of the defense. He pulled out his pocketwatch, sighing in mild irritation at the time. _Richard had to come see me_ now? _I have a case in 20 minutes…_ the elder Enjolras loved his son, but the boy still frustrated him.

“Hello, Father,” his son’s voice jerked him out of his reverie as he walked into the office, sitting down on the other side of the desk.

He nodded. “Hello, Richard. Colette said you wanted to see me; what’s going on? And make it as brief as possible; I have to be in court at 2:00,” he added, checking his pocketwatch again.

The younger man sighed in mild irritation and went straight to his point. “Father, I’m bringing a girl to Firebird on Thursday.”

He froze behind his desk, his hand still reaching out for a stack of papers to put in his briefcase for court. After a tense moment, he turned his head to look at his son. “What sort of girl, Richard?” he asked in a voice that thinly concealed his bitterness.

“Mac’s new bartender, Éponine. I’ve already been on a date with her, and I really like her. She’s…really great. She’s sweet, charming, and absolutely gorgeous…”

“That’s what you think now, when you barely know her,” his father snapped. “Believe me, I know. Your mother entranced me for over 30 years, between courting her and being married to her…and then she left us, Richard. I only discovered the depth of her feelings – or lack thereof – after she killed herself.”

“Father, that was 26 years ago,” Enjolras said insistently. “I was only a child when Mother died. And besides, Éponine is not her.”

“Trust me, son. It doesn’t work that way. At their core, women are selfish creatures, all of them,” his father answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to court,” he said primly, gathering the last of his papers and standing up to leave.

The younger Richard Enjolras also stood, nodding sharply. “I’m still bringing Éponine to the ballet Thursday. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t make a scene in public,” he said coldly, before turning on his heel and exiting the office.

“Give your father a bit of pity, Richard,” Colette said as he came out. “He’s been a changed man since he lost your mother all those years ago.”

Enjolras waited until his father exited the lobby to answer her. “He’s had long enough to find a way of coping that doesn’t involve demeaning women at large, then,” he muttered. “He never even says her name anymore, Colette. It was Maëlys. Since she died…it was almost like she never existed. And when he did acknowledge her life, it was only with anger and bitterness. Like she didn’t love us enough to stop being sad.”

He sighed quietly, leaning on the secretary’s overly tall desk. “I have a few vague memories of the year or so before she died, when I was about four…I would see her sitting alone at the kitchen table, crying…and I would always ask her, ‘Mother, why are you sad?’ She would wipe away her tears, try to smile, and say to me, ‘I don’t know why I’m sad, Richard. I wish I did, so I could try to stop it, but I can’t stop being sad.’” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he remembered his mother. “Being four years old, I didn’t really understand why she couldn’t stop being sad…but I remember always trying to make it better for her, in all of the simple ways a little child can think of.”

Colette gave him a sad smile and put a hand on his shoulder. “You always were a good son, Richard.” He smiled sadly, patting her hand and walked back out to his car.

Enjolras spent a long time driving around the city, going nowhere in particular, thinking about his mother, his father, Éponine, his father’s words about her, what on earth it was all supposed to mean…had he been wrong to ignore potential relationships all his life? The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how angry and bitter his father still was, even after 26 years. From what he remembered as a child, his parents had loved each other more deeply than he could have ever understood. How had that all changed so quickly when she killed herself all those years ago?

He caught himself repeatedly driving by the general store that contained the Whitehorse, and finally parked outside it. The young lawyer sat in his car for a moment, deliberating on whether or not to go in. Would Éponine even be working? And if she wasn’t, what would he do? Mac didn’t usually keep more than one bartender anyway, especially with Prohibition becoming the law…

 _But even so, what do I do if she’s there? Tell her my father doesn’t want to see her at Firebird? I can’t do that. And there’s no way I could talk to Mac about this; he’d never take me seriously again if he knew I have a crush on his bartender._ He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. _Come on, Richard; get it together. Do you want to be with her or not?_

 _It’s not a question of whether or not I want to be with her. It’s a question of why I keep driving past here when I have nowhere else to go._ He sighed again, still frustrated. _For God’s sake, what_ is _it about that woman…?_

Enjolras stared at the general store door for a while, debating on whether or not to go in and talk to her. Out of nowhere, the door burst open and there she was, carrying two large bags of trash to the dumpster. Panic involuntarily raced through him for just a moment, and he shrank down in the driver’s seat. _Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me…_

Then her head turned.

_Dammit!_

Éponine raised an eyebrow when she saw him, laughing at the sheepish look on his face. _Well, no choice now, Richard…_ he thought to himself, getting out of his car. “What brings you here, stranger?” she laughed as she set down the bags, rolling the tension out of her shoulders.

“I heard that Mac hired a doll recently, and I decided to investigate the claim myself,” he grinned. “What about you?” he laughed.

“Oh, I’m the new bartender. Mac hired me recently,” she grinned back as she opened the dumpster and threw in one of the bags of trash. “So how’s it going?” she asked cheerfully.

He hesitated for a moment, not sure of what to say before it all came spilling out. “Well, the ballet Thursday doesn’t start until 7:30; would you like to have dinner before? We can go back to the Stork Club, or we can go somewhere else; it’s up to you. Or I can cook.”

“Sounds great,” she grinned. “Wait – you can cook?” she laughed.

 _Dammit, why do I open my mouth?_ “Since I was 14,” he admitted, only slightly shamefaced. “What kind of food do you like?”

“Well, Italian’s my favorite,” she confessed.

He grinned. “Good to know. So I’ll pick you up at 6:00, we’ll eat dinner at my apartment and go to the ballet?”

“Sounds great to me,” she answered. “Oh, how should I dress?”

“Togged to the bricks.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you Thursday night at 6:00,” she smiled. To his surprise, she leaned in to peck his cheek before waving goodbye and going back to the Whitehorse. He stood still on the sidewalk for a moment, slightly shocked. His fingers involuntarily reached up to graze the spot that her lips had touched, and with a grin, he hopped back into his car and drove back to his apartment, already ready for Thursday night.

_Oh, Éponine Jondrette…what you do to me._


	4. Chasing Her

Finally, Thursday night arrived.

Enjolras straightened his tie as the pasta sauce finished simmering on the stove. He was about to leave to pick up Éponine for dinner, and he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. He hadn’t been able to get his mind off of the way she had so quickly kissed his cheek three days ago, and then acted like it was completely normal. _Father never mentioned that women could be so confusing,_ he thought as he walked out to his car.

The whole drive to West 10th, he caught himself wondering what she would look like tonight. The dress she had worn on their first date had been absolutely lovely…what would it be tonight? He shook the thoughts out of his head as he climbed the stairs to her door, knocking three times.

“Come in; it’s open!” he heard her holler.

Enjolras chuckled a little, shaking his head, and opened the door. Her apartment was small, but clearly clean and well kept. He had stepped into a small sitting room with a couch and recliner; the kitchen was right behind it. A small hall was in front of him that he presumed led to her bedroom, judging by the ray of light that flooded through the open door and onto the floor. “Éponine?” he called out, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m in the back; come on through!” she yelled again. With another laugh, he proceeded tentatively down the hall. When he reached the threshold of her room, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

She was leaning towards the mirror on her dresser, putting in her earrings, but the deep-red dress hugging her body was what caught his attention. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the open back and neck. Her long, dark hair was up in a bun, with a couple of small curls framing her face. When she turned to look at him, he noticed that her eyes were gently lined with makeup, and her cheeks lightly covered with blush. “Hello,” she said, smiling breathlessly.

For the first time in a long time, Enjolras was at a complete loss for words. She was breathtaking, a very picture of beauty. “Hello,” he finally managed to whisper. “You look…incredible.”

She chuckled nervously, smoothing the front of the dress and looking down at the floor. “Well, you did tell me to be togged to the bricks,” she teased. “But thank you.”

He laughed a little. “It’s perfect, Éponine. Even in my favorite shade of my favorite color.”

She grinned. “Pure luck, I suppose.”

“Yeah…” he murmured. “That must’ve been it.” He couldn’t believe how distracted he still was by her – the dress, the hair, the makeup, everything…she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in a long time. “Ready to go?”

She nodded, picking up a sheer red shawl that was lying across her bed and draping it over her shoulders. “If you are,” she grinned.

 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he chuckled, ushering her in as he re-locked the door and shut it behind them. “Make yourself at home.”

His apartment was mostly bare, but clean. There was a sofa in the living room with a reading lamp, and a coffee table in front of it. In the back corner was a Steinway and Sons grand piano, the lid open on the tallest peg, several books and pages of music spread out on it. Tall bookshelves lined the rest of the walls. The hallway to the bedroom was on Éponine’s right, the kitchen to her left. The susurrus of wind outside soothed her as she looked around. “You have a really nice place,” she said, smiling.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” he smiled. “Dinner’s on the stove.”

“Perfect,” she said as they walked into the kitchen.

Enjolras seated her at the table, before getting both their plates and serving spaghetti and meatballs. “I have another extra treat,” he grinned, going to a locked cabinet under his kitchen sink. He reappeared a few moments later with a bottle of red wine, grinning from ear to ear.

“You sneaky bastard!” Éponine laughed. “How’d you manage to get your hands on that?”

“I have friends in high places,” Enjolras grinned, pouring two small glasses and handing one to Éponine. “So how was your day?” he asked as they sat down to eat.

She laughed. “Long and difficult! I had to get up early this morning to finish cleaning my apartment, and Mac’s been calling me in to work daytime shifts most of the week, since he let me have tonight night off for the ballet,” she grinned.

He grinned back. “I’m so glad he did. You’re going to love it. My father will be meeting us there.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said. They paused for a while, eating and enjoying the other’s presence, before Éponine spoke again. “You know…I really don’t mean to pry, Enjolras, but you mention your father all the time…what about your mother?”

Enjolras looked away, setting his fork down. “I was actually just talking with my father about her earlier this week. She committed suicide when I was four,” he said. “She got some sort of melancholia after I was born that never went away.”

Her face immediately transformed into shock and sympathy, one hand covering her mouth. “Oh, my God…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean – ”

“No, it’s alright,” he assured her, putting his hand on hers on the table, and she uncomfortably relaxed. “I’m okay to talk about it; just don’t mention her around my father. Ever since she died…he’s just been an angry man. I don’t know what it was about my mother’s death that changed him, but he’s been festering for the last 26 years.”

She put her other hand on top of his, as if in sympathy. “What was her name?” she asked softly.

He smiled. “Maëlys.”

“That’s beautiful,” Éponine said, smiling a little. “I know how it is to lose your mother…mine got a fever after she had my little brother. I was only about 9 or 10 when she died. We didn’t have the money for a doctor.”

Enjolras’ face adopted the same sympathetic look that hers had moments before, and he reached out to her free hand with his. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. “What can you do?”

He pondered for a moment before he answered. “Remember fondly, and live to make them proud,” he said, smiling gently and running his thumb back and forth over her hand. “What was your mother’s name?”

She smiled. “Coralie.”

“Beautiful,” Enjolras murmured as he picked up his fork again. “She certainly named her daughter well,” he grinned. “Where’s she come up with Éponine? It’s lovely.”

She blushed heavily, and was thankful that the lighting in his apartment wasn’t too bright. “If I remember correctly, my name comes from the ancient Gaul _Epponina_. She was the wife of a man named Julius Sabinus, who rebelled against the Roman Empire. She protected her husband from the Romans for years, and chose to die with him when he was finally captured. My mother was quite the history lover.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows went up. “Wow…prime example of true love.”

“Something you don’t find a lot these days,” she said quietly, taking a sip of her wine. “At least…it’s not something I’ve found yet.”

He smiled gently as he set down his wine glass, taking her hand again. “You’ll find it someday, Éponine,” he murmured. “I know you will.”

She smiled back, gently weaving her fingers through his. His big hand was gentle, warm and calloused against hers. “It’s nice to know someone still has faith in me,” she murmured.

Enjolras brought her hand to his lips, making her blush one more time. He grinned again, proud of himself, before he checked his pocketwatch. “The ballet starts at 7:30, and it’s almost 6:30. We should go if we want to meet my father and get good seats.”

 

Éponine was in awe from the moment they pulled up at Carnegie Hall.

The building’s façade was huge and imposing, and she couldn’t help but feel caught up in her surroundings as she watched the dozens of men in suits and women in long dresses going into the hall, laughing and chatting casually to each other.

_How did I end up here when I’m just a speakeasy bartender?_

“Alright,” Enjolras said as he got out of the car, adjusting his jacket. His speech jerked her out of her reverie, and she turned to look at him. “My father has said he’ll meet us right by the house doors. Ready?”

She nodded, smiling stiffly. “Sure.”

“Don’t worry, Éponine,” he said gently, offering her an arm. “You look absolutely stunning, and you have nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.” She took his arm, still blushing and they joined the file of people flowing into the hall.

Enjolras quickly spotted his father, standing by the door to the theatre in a suit almost identical to his. He waved with the arm that wasn’t escorting Éponine to catch the man’s attention, and he responded with a nod, closing the gap between them. “Hello, Richard,” he said stiffly.

“Hello, Father,” Enjolras answered in almost the same stiff tone. “Éponine, this is my father, Richard Enjolras, Sr.” he said, gesturing to the broad man in front of them.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said with a slight curtsey.

“Father, this is Éponine,” he said, mimicking the gesture to her.

She made eye contact with him again, and immediately regretted it. She could feel his cold eyes judging her, trying to make her feel like she wasn’t good enough for his son. However, she held it until he turned around and walked away into the house.

Enjolras sighed in mild frustration, and Éponine looked at him in worry. “Don’t fret; it’s not you,” he said. “Like I told you at the apartment, he has an engrained dislike of all women since my mother died. Come on, let’s catch up to him and get our seats.”

 

Éponine skimmed the program as she and Enjolras sat down next to his father; she was suddenly thankful that he was in between the two of them. The background chatter washed over her as she read through the long list of names – characters, dancers, members of the orchestra, they went on for pages. “So, what’s the ballet about?” she leaned over and murmured to Enjolras.

“It’s based on an old Russian folk tale,” he explained. “The story centers around the hero, Prince Ivan,” he said, pointing to the name in the program. “He sees the Firebird in the garden of Kashchei the Immortal and captures her. She begs Ivan for her life and agrees to help him get to Kashchei in exchange for her freedom.”

“The Firebird’s a she?” Éponine asked in surprise.

Enjolras chuckled. “Yes, she is. Anyway, Prince Ivan sees 13 princesses in the garden of Kashchei the next day, and falls in love with one of them. Ivan asks Kashchei for her hand, and they argue. Kashchei starts sending magical creatures after Ivan, but the Firebird bewitches them into a dance before putting them to sleep with a lullaby. However, when Kashchei awakes, the Firebird enchants him into another dance. She then gives Ivan the secret of his immortality.”

“Which is?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“His soul is contained inside a giant egg,” Enjolras grinned. “Prince Ivan destroys the egg, which kills Kashchei and lifts all of his dark enchantments. All of the ‘real’ beings awake, and celebrate Ivan’s victory with him and the Princess he loves.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be incredible,” she grinned.

“It will be,” he grinned back. “This is my fourth time to see it, and the first three times always kept me completely captivated.”

The house lights started to go down, and gradually the chatter ceased. The maestro, whom Enjolras murmured in Éponine’s ear as he entered was Arturo Toscanini himself, bowed to the audience’s polite applause before descending to the orchestra pit.

The music started, the curtain went up, and the ballet began.

Éponine’s jaw dropped at the elaborate sets and costumes, and the beautiful dancing on stage. Everything flowed perfectly with the gorgeous music, and Enjolras even pointed out the characters as they appeared, to help her keep them straight. More than once, a sudden sforzando in the orchestra would catch her by surprise, and she’d instinctively grab his hand. When she realized what she’d done, she’d quickly return her attention to the stage, hoping he didn’t notice her blush.

Enjolras could hardly pay attention to the ballet. He so loved watching her take it all in, a little at a time. He pointed out the characters he’d mentioned to her in the story, and smiled gently whenever she grabbed his hand in surprise. She was constantly alert; even when the music calmed down, the dancing kept her captivated. The awe and wonder in her eyes was one of the more fulfilling things he’d seen in his life.

By the finale, she was completely drawn in; he thought her eyes were going to pop right out of their sockets. The last two minutes of triumphant brass fanfares soared through the hall as Prince Ivan and his Princess ascended the steps to the top of the set, and when the last chord rang, the audience erupted in loud applause. Éponine was on her feet with the rest of them, clapping with an enthusiasm he’d never seen before.

“So what did you think?” He grinned as the lights came back up and they picked up their belongings. “Did it live up to your expectations?”

“It surpassed them by so much!” she laughed. “That was absolutely incredible. I see why you love it so much, Enjolras.”

From behind him, he heard his father’s quiet, derisive snort. “Such a simple-minded, dingy little girl,” he muttered under his breath as he shrugged on his overcoat.

His son bristled at the comment, but chose to ignore him. _Don’t give him any ammunition, Richard._ “I’m glad you enjoyed it so much, Éponine,” he smiled. “I’d hoped you would.”

She grinned again. “If you gents will excuse me, I’ve got to make a detour to the ladies room,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

“We’ll wait for you right here,” Enjolras called before his father could say anything else. He smiled as she left, before his father grabbed him by the arm to get his attention.

“Enough, Richard.”

“Enough what, Father?”

“When do you draw the line between prosecuting the poor and dressing them up for the ballet, son?” he snapped. “Where does it end?”

“Not with her,” Enjolras snarled, jerking his arm free of his father’s iron grip. “Éponine is not one of the low-life poor you prosecute in court, Father. The fact that she works in a speakeasy is not an imminent representation of her character. She _is_ a good person, and I won’t hear otherwise about her.”

The older Enjolras snorted again. “I’ve raised a fool. One minute, you have this girl dressed up for the ballet, but just you wait, son. Once you turn your back, she’ll turn into a grifter. A moll.”

“Well, maybe I won’t turn my back at all, then,” he answered coldly as Éponine reappeared. “Ready to go?” he asked kindly. She nodded with a smile, smoothing out the front of her dress again. “Good; I’ll take you home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Father,” he said stiffly, before giving Éponine his arm again to leave the theatre.

She spoke again once they were in his car. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” he murmured. “I’m fine. It’s just my father…” he sighed in frustration again as he started to drive back to Éponine’s apartment. “He thinks that if he can’t have someone to love, then I can’t, either. I don’t want to sound like a petulant child, but it’s completely unfair.”

“No, you’re completely right,” she said. “I was always told as a little girl that everyone finds love in their own time. Maybe some people won’t be able to hold onto it as long, but he should at least let you have the chance to go out and find it.” She paused. “And when you find it, Enjolras, your father should approve of your choices.”

At her words, small smile crossed his face as he turned towards West 10th. “Thank you, Éponine. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

 

He was almost regretful when he pulled up by her building and walked up the metal steps with her to the front door. It had been a perfect evening, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. This was his least favorite part of every time he’d seen her – somehow, he always ended up walking her home, and he hated watching that door close behind her.

“Thank you for bringing me with you tonight, Enjolras,” she said, still smiling. “And I hope you can smooth things over with your father.”

He snorted a little. “Well, that one’s doubtful, but I’m glad you came,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t have wanted to share that performance with anyone else.”

She grinned again. “Hey…you wanna come in for a nightcap? I have some contraband of my own in the kitchen,” she grinned. “Working at a speakeasy has its perks.”

Enjolras wasn’t about to pass up a chance to spend more time with Éponine. “Absolutely,” he smiled.

She grinned, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “Welcome back to my apartment,” she laughed. “Make yourself at home; I’ll get the liquor.” Enjolras couldn’t help but smile as he surveyed his surroundings again while she walked into the kitchen. He unlaced his dress shoes and took them off, leaving them at the door as he followed her towards the kitchen.

“I’m not sure if you like Jack Daniels or not, Mr. Enjolras, but it’s all I’ve got,” she grinned, holding up a bottle and two shot glasses.

“You remembered,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Of course I remembered! It’s my job to remember patrons’ preferences,” she laughed. “Go ahead, sit at the table,” she said, popping open the bottle and pouring a liberal amount into each glass. He grinned as he sat down at the table, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head as he watched her carefully carry the alcohol over to him. “Enjoy,” she grinned, setting one of the shot glasses in front of him, before sitting across from him at the table.

Enjolras raised his glass in a toast. “To us,” he said, smiling.

Éponine raised her glass in return. “To us,” she echoed, mimicking his smile. The glasses clinked together, and together, they shot.

“Aaaaaaahh!” Enjolras exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth rapidly as the whiskey burned down his throat. “I haven’t done that since law school!” he laughed, setting down his glass.

“You want another round? Or will that be too much to handle?” Éponine winked.

“Hit me!” he laughed.

Together, they did three more rounds, before Enjolras decided he’d had enough. Once she put the liquor away, they decided to sit and talk for a little while longer; Enjolras didn’t feel like leaving, and Éponine had no desire to kick him out. They moved out to her couch when the kitchen chairs got too uncomfortable, and seemingly never ran out of things to talk about. She told him about growing up the oldest of five siblings, living over an inn; he told her about growing up an only child, and his friends from law school. The only reason he knew time was passing was the way her hair was gradually falling out of its bun, and that his body felt gradually more tired when he tried to adjust his sitting position.

“I’ve actually known Combeferre since I was a child; his father and my father are law partners. And then there was Grantaire…” Enjolras laughed. “I was never particularly close to him, partly because he was always drinking himself into a stupor. More often than not, he would miss class because he was either hung over or still drunk from the night before.”

“Not a name I’ve heard at the Whitehorse, surprisingly,” Éponine laughed. “Did you all go by your last names?”

He nodded. “Pontmercy and I both came from wealthy families, but the others were poor. They worked day and night when they weren’t in class to put food on the table for their families, or to pay off their school loans. My father actually wrote checks to most of their families to help them finish paying their tuition last year.”

Éponine raised her eyebrows. “That’s very generous.”

“My father can be a good man, when he’s not blinded by his emotions,” Enjolras remarked. “It just upsets me, the way he thinks of and treats women. I mean…” he paused, and she turned to face him a little better. “I haven’t known you more than two weeks, and already…I feel really close to you,” he said a little lamely. “Being around you…I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

She smiled back. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “When Mac introduced you to me at the Whitehorse…I knew I was going to enjoy being around you. And so far…I really have, Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiled at her. “I’m glad you say so,” he said softly, reaching up to tuck one loose curl out of her face.

She blushed at his touch. “It’s true,” she murmured, smiling.

Enjolras’ smile never wavered as he turned to face her on the sofa. His fingertips tarried along her jawline, gently tracing the outline of her face, before one came to rest under her chin. He suddenly felt incredibly aware of the touch of her skin against his, the gentle sound of her breathing, the look in her eyes…was it anticipation? Almost unconsciously, he imperceptibly leaned towards her, his lips parting ever so slightly.

He felt her breath mix with his for just a moment before Éponine closed the gap between them, and his eyes closed almost instantly. Her mouth was small, but warm, soft and sweet against his. Enjolras’ hand rested on her arm as his lips gently moved with hers, their heads slowly tilting in opposite directions. His other hand moved up to cup her jaw as hers went to rest on his chest; her touch sent chills down his spine. His hands reached around to rest on her back, in her hair, just as hers went underneath his suit jacket. The warmth of her small hands through his shirt intensified his chills, and he pulled her even closer.

“Éponine…” he whispered longingly between kisses. She pulled back from him long enough to catch her breath, before putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh…don’t speak,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. Enjolras kissed back, unable to refuse her. His left arm tightened around her waist; the other hand tangled further into her hair. His tongue traced over her lips, begging entry, and she immediately complied. Their mouths opened further as their bodies pressed closer; he could almost feel her heart pounding against his chest. One minute, her hands were grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, the next running over his back, sides and chest. His hands ran up and down her back, marveling at the softness of her skin.

They kept kissing, hands everywhere at once, until Enjolras finally had to stop for breath, pulling away from her with a gasp. “Éponine…what was that?” he whispered, still slightly out of breath.

She was already looking away from him, and also breathing heavily. “It was perfect,” she whispered. “But…”

“But?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She bit her bottom lip, clearly trying to figure out what she wanted to say. He had to go _now_ , before things got anymore involved…but no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had made her actually feel loved or wanted before, and she loved that feeling.

_But he can’t know, Éponine._

“I…” she whispered, trying to form a sentence that was the last thing she wanted to say to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked nervously.

She pulled her arms in, folding her hands on her lap as she had before their first date. “It’s just…I don’t know how quickly I want to take this,” she said. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks…that kiss was wonderful, but – ”

Enjolras cut her off by putting a finger to her lips. “It’s fine, Éponine,” he said gently. “I completely understand where you’re coming from. It just kind of…happened. I was surprised at myself, to be honest.”

She smiled again, clearly relieved by his answer. “Thank you for staying with me this long,” she said quietly.

“Of course,” he said, smiling at her before checking his pocketwatch. 10:30 pm. He sighed quietly as he put it away. “Damn…I have to go into my father’s office tomorrow; I should get going.”

Éponine nodded, standing up as he did. “Thank you so much…for everything tonight,” she said as she opened the door for him. “I really loved spending so much time with you.”

“I did, too,” he smiled. “Goodnight, Éponine.”

“Goodnight, Enjolras.”

 

She waited until his car drove away to punch the wall. Why, dear God, _why_ did this man have such an effect on her? The way he’d smiled at her, touched her face so gently, kissed her so sweetly…

_Can people really fall in love so fast?_

_Maybe_ they _can, but_ you _can’t, Éponine! He’s going to end up just like the rest; you’re just begging to get your heart broken again. He may care about you now, but only because he doesn’t really know you, and he never will._

She walked back to the kitchen, locking the whiskey and shot glasses away as she thought about him. _I’ll wait until I hear from him to decide anything about his character,_ she resolved. _Let’s hope it’s soon._

Enjolras got back to his apartment around 10:45, still thinking about the way the night had ended. What the hell was he supposed to make of that kiss? It had started off perfectly, just the way he thought it would…but then, when it finally ended, she had looked… _scared._

 _What on Earth is she so afraid of?_ He picked up the phone in his kitchen, dialing his best friend as he thought about her.

“Ugh…Enjolras, do you realize what time – ”

“Combeferre, listen to me,” he said.


	5. Missing Her

“So let me get this straight,” Combeferre said, setting down his cup of coffee. “You, Richard Enjolras, my best friend since childhood, have gone out in public with a _woman? More than once?”_

He sighed irritably. _“Yes_ , John Combeferre.” The two attorneys’ sons were sitting in Enjolras’ apartment the morning after the ballet, discussing the ongoing development of his budding relationship with Éponine. “I just don’t know what to think…I haven’t ever _really_ dated, but this girl is…different. She almost makes me want to give it a go.”

“We are talking about an actual, human _woman,_ correct?” his friend asked, only half-jokingly. During their time in law school, Enjolras had been nicknamed the “Marble Man” for his seeming inability – or even desire – to connect to or understand women. For so long – almost as long as John Combeferre could remember – his best friend had been a man fully devoted to his work and to his mind, but now, after meeting this mysterious speakeasy bartender, he seemed to be opening up at last.

The man in question rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I could have cooked one up in a laboratory or something, ‘Ferre. Be logical.”

“Just had to be sure, Enjolras,” Combeferre chuckled to himself, checking his pocketwatch. “It’s almost 9:00; we should go in to the office soon,” he remarked.

Enjolras nodded, finishing his coffee and standing up. “You’re right. Let’s get going.”

 

Éponine woke up late the next morning, the sun streaming in through her bedroom window. She rubbed her eyes, frowning at the bright light as she slowly staggered out of the warm bed. She was glad that Mac was giving her the day off; she was going to need it.

After a quick bath and breakfast, she slipped on one of her less-fancy skirt and blouse outfits, before heading out to the rough side of town, where the remnants of her family lived. Things at her house had slowly spiraled out of control since her mother had died 10 years ago, and she was finally going to confront her father.

Azelma was now about 25 – still unmarried, as far as Éponine knew – and Gavroche was about 16. The youngest children, twin boys, were only 13, and still subject to Thénardier’s cruelty, especially since they had been unexpected and unwanted in the first place – they’d been dumped on the inn’s doorstep as newborns, and the church was too full to take them, leaving Thénardier an angry widower, stuck with two more mouths to feed.

Éponine wound her way effortlessly through the crowded New York streets; she’d been doing it since she was a child. By now, she knew her way around New York like nobody’s business. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone she passed. Thénardier had raised his children to be chameleons; they could blend in wherever they wanted.

It took a while, but eventually, she made it through all the winding alleys to get to the base for her father’s gang, Patron-Minette. Since his tavern had been shut down by Prohibition, he had started an underground crime network. They had started with petty scams and pickpocketing, but now, he was dabbling in bootlegging to pick up some extra money. Even though Éponine worked at a speakeasy, it bothered her that her younger siblings were exposed to that daily.

She turned her head as she went down the alley, and immediately caught sight of a familiar face that nearly made her heart stop. “Hello, sweetie,” his familiar velvet voice purred. The mischievous gleam in his eyes was still alive, and his smile was as dangerously charming as it had always been.

“Hello, Montparnasse,” she murmured, doing her best to remain immune to him. “Have you seen my father?”

Montparnasse gestured with his head to the large flap of burlap behind him. “He’s in there. He lucked out; they’re not keeping him in prison while he’s still just on trial.”

“Trial?!” Éponine exclaimed. “What did he get caught for?”

“Just petty theft,” Montparnasse shrugged. “Multiple counts, but he managed to score a good lawyer. The prosecution’s going to be a tough nut to crack, though. Name’s Enjolras; from what my connections have told me, he’s never lost a case.”

Éponine’s heart nearly stopped. _There can’t be more than one family named Enjolras in town…but he can’t mean…_

“Is that my girl Éponine?” her father’s loud voice shouted through the burlap. She knew he wasn’t going to get up to check for himself.

“Yeah, it’s me, Father; I need t’ talk to ya,” she shouted back over Montparnasse’s shoulder, gradually slipping into the rough speech she had learned as a child. Montparnasse chuckled at her, and the two exchanged a furtive grin. They had been childhood sweethearts and best friends for years, until Éponine finally managed to get out from under her father, while Montparnasse sank deeper into Thénardier’s criminal ways.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘re ya doin’ ‘ere?” he yelled.

“Lemme in an’ I’ll tell ya!” she yelled back.

 

Enjolras gingerly sat down in his father’s desk chair, surveying the office in an entirely new light. In all the years that he’d visited here – ever since his mother had died – he’d always been on the other side of the desk. Richard Enjolras, Jr. had always been pleading his case in lieu of the ability to take action.

_So this is what it’s like to sit on the other side of the desk._

As he sat there, alone in the office, he thought about its regular tenant. For the longest time, his father had been his biggest hero, his inspiration for becoming a lawyer. But over the years, Enjolras’ opinion of his father had slowly begun to change. The angrier, bitterer side was slowly coming out, especially as Enjolras and Éponine spent more time together. Going to law school and forming his own opinions about the world wasn’t exactly helping the situation, either…but none of this tension had existed between them before Éponine.

He thought more about her as he started to organize the scattered papers on his father’s desk, with another cup of coffee from ‘Ferre. What was it about that sweet, smiling bartender that constantly kept him coming back for more? What was it about her that seemed to intoxicate him whenever they were together? The more he reflected on their two dates, the more he realized that being around her made him… _happy._ Not just a fleeting happiness that came from a witty quip, or a fun night out. No, he even felt himself light up whenever he saw her, or thought about her.

_She’s definitely different from the rest._

 

Éponine pulled back the flap and went into her father’s base. Even though it was the middle of the day, she could hardly see once the flap fell down behind her; it was pitch black. Somewhere, a match was struck, and she saw the outline of a face.

“’Ponine!” her brothers’ voices all exclaimed.

“Gav!” she cried. “Miquel! Armande! Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, hugging all three of them as tightly as she could. She thought the boys were going to break her spine with the tightness of their embraces, but she didn’t care. “Where’s Azelma?”

“She’s out gettin’ food,” Thénardier answered gruffly, striking another match to light a lamp. Éponine and the boys squinted temporarily at the change in lighting, before they adjusted. “Now, whaddya want?”

 

A knock at the door interrupted him. “Richard?” It was Colette.

“Yes, Colette?”

“There’s a woman here to see you.” His heart leapt for a moment. “The wife of one of your father’s clients,” she said.

He tried to hide his disappointment in his next question. “Surname?”

“Tholomyés.”

He frowned. It wasn’t a familiar name to him, and his father didn’t often have “clients” in the standard sense of the word. However, he trusted Colette. “Send her in,” he said, relaxing in the chair.

 

“Montparnasse told me you got arrested again,” she said irritably. “Who’d you try to rob this time?”

“For yer information, ‘Ponine, it was th’ middle o’ the city, an’ I wasn’ lookin’ at his face!” Thénardier shouted at her. “Some rich man tryin’ ta be a gent. I been workin’ me arse off tryin’ ta feed yer siblings, and ya ain’t even home ta gimme a hand! Ye had to run off an’ get a job a’ an’ther speakeasy!”

Éponine sighed in irritation. “I have to make a living for myself somehow, Papa, and our tavern went under! Do you expect me to be another mouth for you to feed my entire life?”

“Ye can feed yer own damn greedy mouth, but as long as ya ain’t married, ya live under my roof, and ya follow my rules, damn girl!” he shouted, slapping her across the face.

 

Enjolras wasn’t quite prepared for the woman that stepped meekly into the office.

She was obviously quite poor, even though she tried to hide it with the shawl around her shoulders. Her dress was in tatters, clinging to her skeleton of a form. Her hair had clearly been cut quite short a while ago, and was still growing back. Her cheeks were sunken in, her eyes hollow. She sat down in the chair across from him without even making eye contact, staring at the floor as if she didn’t deserve to look at him. “Mr. Enjolras,” she whispered meekly. This clearly was a woman who had lived most of, if not all of, her life in extreme poverty.

“Yes, I’m the younger,” he answered gently. Something about this woman’s fragility made him a little nervous; he felt like he was going to break her with one wrong word. “My father’s in court all day today, so he asked me to hear his clients at the office.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know…I actually came to see you.”

Enjolras was surprised, but decided to see what happened. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

 

Éponine stumbled backwards from the force of the slap; her father still had a wicked hand, even after all these years. “Papa!” she shouted. “I have my own apartment, and my own job; I can live my own life!”

“Ya can live yer own life when I say ye can live yer own life, ye little rat!” Thénardier shouted, slapping her again. “I’m yer father; I’m the only grown man in yer life, an’ it’s my job to watch out fer ya until yer married! What makes ya think ye can toss me out when ya don’ need me an’ come back when ya do?”

From the corner, she heard Gav shout her name, but she was still too dizzy to respond. Her father hadn’t slapped her in a long time, and she wasn’t used to the force of it anymore. “Papa, please!” She shouted. “I want to be free!”

 

The woman on the other side of the desk could hardly keep from weeping. “Please, Mr. Enjolras…my Felix never meant to cause harm to me, or to my daughter…”

“Ma’am, please show me your face,” Enjolras murmured as gently as he could. “I want to help you, but I can’t unless I know who you are, apart from Mr. Tholomyés.”

She shook a little, pulling her shawl in closer around her dress. Her bony shoulders still poked out above it, like the wings of a flightless bird. Enjolras pitied the woman, who was clearly so terrified to be alone in the presence of a strange man. _What happened to this woman to make her so afraid?_ “Please, trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what Felix said…before he knew about her.”

 

Montparnasse snorted from the entrance. “Free?” he said derisively. “You can never be free, ‘Ponine. You’re a Thénardier, no matter how you try to dress yourself up, try to get away, live somewhere else, speak prettier, or date prettier men. You’ll always be a Thénardier, and you can never escape that fact.”

She wheeled around and slapped him as hard as she could across the face, drawing blood where her nails scraped his cheek. “I don’t need any judgment from you of all people, Montparnasse,” she spat. “You’re a petty thief who tries to dress himself up like a bourgeois, just so you can go nail some pretty girl and leave her the next day.”

“Shut your mouth, bitch!” he barked in a tone that was all too similar to her father’s. “We were always first, and we will always be first! _I_ should be first! I _was_ first!”

“And you did exactly what I said you do, ‘Parnasse. You had your way with me and left. What more do I owe to you?” she hissed, turning on her heel and leaving.

 

Enjolras frowned, trying to make sense of the scattered things she was saying. “Her, ma’am? Who’s ‘her’?”

“Our daughter…” she said, trying to hold back more tears. “H-he never even knew I was pregnant, until she was born. We always assumed she was his…but…” she broke down in sobs again. “Oh, Mr. Enjolras, I’ve been such a fool…I don’t even know who her real father is…I always assumed it was Felix when she was a little girl, but now…as she’s gotten older, I don’t know…she looks so much like him…”

He was growing steadily more alarmed by the minute, especially as her story seemed to get more and more jumbled. He wasn’t even quite sure why she had come to him, specifically, instead of waiting to see his father. “Ma’am, please…” Enjolras said as gently as he could, still with a hand on her arm. “I need to know who you are.”

She looked up at him, their blue eyes met, and he could hardly keep in a gasp of shock.

“Fantine!”


	6. Loving Her, Part One

“But…you died…” he stammered. “Years ago, in the hospital…”

Fantine snorted. “I might as well have been dead when they threw me out on that cart,” she said bitterly, wiping away the last of her tears. “I woke up on an undertaker’s table the next day; they said it was a miracle, but that they had to keep it hushed up.”

Enjolras couldn’t keep from running a hand over his face; he couldn’t believe she was actually alive. Fantine Tholomyés was practically a legend around New York City, albeit not in a good way. As a young woman, she had a notorious reputation for her feminine wiles – which, he presumed, was how she had seduced Felix Tholomyés and had their daughter, Euphraise. The girl was more commonly known as Cosette, her true parentage known only to a select few. Fantine could be seen on the streets at any hour of the day and night – the elder Enjolras had pointed her out to his son countless times when he was a boy, more so after his mother’s death.

“So why have you come to me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from being heavy with his surprise. He couldn’t pull his thoughts out of his head; every time he looked her in the eyes, his father’s voice echoed in his memory – _“That’s why you need to beware of women – they may act sweet and pretty, but on the inside, they all just want to love you and leave you. They all end up like Fantine Tholomyés.”_

“Because your father has refused to listen,” she said. “I’ve been trying, and he rejects me.”

He frowned. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“You’re his son,” she said simply. “In my experience, the apple falls either very far from the tree, or very close to it.” She paused. “Truth be told, Mr. Enjolras…word has circulated among the poor of New York City about how different you are from your father. His job is to try and make us out to be evil, throw us in jail for crimes we don’t commit…and you, Mr. Enjolras, you look upon us with pity rather than scorn.”

Enjolras was surprised at how shrewd she was. Time on the streets had not dulled her at all. “Colette said your husband is a client of my father’s…” he said slowly. “What does that really mean?”

Fantine sighed. “That, Mr. Enjolras, requires a long story. Where would you like me to start?”

He sat back in the chair, gesturing for her to speak. “The beginning.”

 

Éponine went to the market to look for Azelma when she stormed out of the Patron-Minette base, still fuming at her father’s words. He’d had control of her, her life, her choices, for so long…she couldn’t bear to sit in her apartment while her younger siblings suffered through that same fate.

“Éponine! Is that really you?” a familiar, joyful voice called, jerking her out of her thoughts.

“Azelma!” Éponine exclaimed when she saw her sister. The two embraced tightly in the square, not caring who saw or passed them. “Oh, I’ve missed you and the boys so much!”

“We’ve missed you too, ‘Ponine,” her sister murmured, holding her out at arms’ length to look at her. “I take it you’ve already been by home, then?” she remarked, nodding towards the angry, red handprints growing on her cheeks.

“How could you tell?” Éponine asked dryly.

Azelma chuckled and hugged her sister again, rubbing her back. “So where were you just going?”

“Um…” Éponine hadn’t had any sort of plan when she’d left in a huff from the Patron-Minette base; she refused to call it home. “I don’t actually have any plans,” she said. “Want to catch up for a while?”

The two sisters walked through the streets of New York arm-in-arm, talking about any and everything going on in their lives. Éponine talked about her new job at Mac’s speakeasy, meeting Enjolras and her two dates with him; Azelma talked about the odd jobs she had picked up around town, Gavroche’s early escapades with Patron-Minette, since he’d filled Éponine’s post as lookout, and the possible beginnings of a relationship with Montparnasse.

Éponine was surprised to hear that he had taken an interest in Azelma, but only slightly. What alarmed her was Azelma’s openness to the idea. “’Zelma…are you sure he’s a good idea?” She said unsurely. “I mean, he wasn’t the best to me…”

“What are you saying?” Azelma asked. “How can you not trust ‘Parnasse when you trust some rich lawyer boy you’ve only been out with twice?” Éponine sighed when she sensed the hurt in her sister’s voice. Azelma had always been easily offended, and it had always made advice giving difficult for Éponine.

“Azelma, hear me out on this,” Éponine said gently, almost pleading. “I just want to protect you. Montparnasse didn’t treat me very well, and I don’t want the same kind of hurt to happen to you. He can act charming, but he can be equally terrible.”

“He’s gotten better, ‘Ponine,” she said quietly, before adding, “Especially since you left.”

Éponine ignored her and tried not to wince. “How can you be sure he’s not acting? ‘Zelma, I just don’t want you to get hurt the way I was. Montparnasse…” she paused, unsure of what to say, and sighed instead. “Just…be careful, sweetie.”

“I’m a grown woman too, Éponine,” she said irritably, pulling her arm away from her sister’s. “I can make my own decisions, especially with ‘Parnasse. Besides, have you told your lawyer everything about you?” Éponine bit her lip, shamefacedly shaking her head. “That’s what I thought,” Azelma said coldly. And with that, she was gone.

Éponine sighed, running a hand over her head as she turned around and walked back to her apartment. _God, I hope she ends up okay._

 

Richard Enjolras, Jr. had found himself at a loss for words more times in the last two weeks than at any other time in his life. His elbows rested on his knees as he buried his face in his shaking hands, trying to wrap his brain around everything Fantine had just finished telling him. Everything she said seemed to check out, but it was all so hard to believe…

He sighed heavily, trying to think of where on earth to even start.

Then, being a lawyer, he asked, “What proof do you have that will hold up in court?”

“If you look at Cosette closely, you’ll see it,” Fantine answered firmly; Enjolras couldn’t deny the conviction in her eyes. “Especially as she’s gotten older, the resemblance can only be called striking.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I want to believe you, Fantine, but…I can’t wrap my head around all of this. As far as I know, your story checks out, but it’s still so hard for me to believe you…it’s so much for me to take in at once.”

She patted his hand that sat on the desk. “I know, Mr. Enjolras.” She paused, clearly remembering something, and he waited for her to speak again. “You know…if I remember correctly, your father kept a journal as a young man. If you can track it down in his apartment, you might find something about all of this.”

Enjolras nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He pulled out one of his father’s business cards from the holder on the desk and scrawled down his address. “Come by my apartment next Saturday afternoon, and we’ll talk more about this,” he said, handing it to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Enjolras,” she murmured meekly, taking the card and standing up to go.

“Call me Richard, Fantine,” he said gently, but quietly as he showed her out. As she left the room, he saw Combeferre poke his head out from the other office door.

“Who was that? You two were talking in there for quite a while.”

He sighed. “You might want to come in here for me to explain. Just make sure the door is tightly shut behind you.”

 

Éponine wandered the streets of New York, not paying attention to where she was going or whom she passed. She was, of course, unhappy that Azelma wouldn’t listen to her advice about Montparnasse, but she wasn’t surprised either. All she wanted was to protect her sister…after she had left when Mama died, she had left her younger siblings to basically fend for themselves. She had never been there to be a role model, or to help them grow up. She tried not to think about everything she’d missed in their lives, but it was hard not to dwell on it.

 

_And now I’m all alone again,_

_Nowhere to turn, no one to go to…_

_Without a home, without a friend_

_Without a face to say hello to…_

 

The more she wandered the streets, the more she thought. She thought about everything – her father, memories of her mother, her sister, her little brothers, what little childhood they had, Montparnasse, Patron-Minette…

Enjolras…

He was the one thing that was completely different from the rest of her life. Éponine had grown up poor; the smells of home were dirt, alcohol, and unwashed people. A living was going out and picking pockets every day, and a meal was a scrap of bread with some cheese. Then he waltzed in, and suddenly…everything was different. For him, home had been a clean house – a real house, not some hovel in the slums of New York. A living was going to court and talking to clients behind a desk every day, and dinner was a real, full meal, like what he had cooked for her. They were so different, and yet so much about them was the same…

Éponine wondered how it was that one person could have such an impact on her life, even though she’d known him for so little time. When she had been a little girl, when Azelma was a baby and before Gav was even born, her mother would tell her about how love always found a way. She would tell Éponine her stories of when she fell in love as a teenager – he had been rich, older than her, and had loved her back. Even though she had ended up married to Éponine’s father, she never forgot her rich boy.

_It’s as though my story could be hers all over again…_

As if by divine intervention, she found herself outside the towering building that housed _The Offices of Enjolras and Combeferre, Attorneys-at-Law._ She almost laughed to herself; she hadn’t even been watching where she was going… _and look where I ended up_.

She hesitated, wondering whether or not to go in and see him. Her mind flashed back to the few days before their second date, when he had shown up outside the speakeasy with no reason but to see her…what would he do if she showed up at his office with no reason but to see him?

_No…he has more important things to do than see me…_

_But what if he wants to see you, too, ‘Ponine? Would you deny him?_

_Of course not…but he can’t know the truth about me. Azelma was wrong. I can always change, and I can always erase that part of my past. He doesn’t have to ever know._

_But if you really care about him, ‘Ponine, you’ll have the decency to tell him the whole truth._

And so she pushed open the big door and walked in.

 

Combeferre took several long, deep breaths as Enjolras finished recounting the details of his meeting with Fantine Tholomyés. His friend was sitting on the edge of the desk – something that Enjolras, Sr. would have never allowed – but they didn’t care, as long as he was in court. “Are you sure she’s telling you the truth?” he asked heavily.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Enjolras answered, putting his feet up – again, an action usually considered taboo. “She did mention that my father kept a journal as a young man, which I know for a fact he did…she said I might find more information from his perspective there. It’s shaky, but right now, it’s our best bet.”

His best friend nodded. “I suppose so. You could invent an excuse to go home, nick it from his bedroom, and take it back to your apartment before next Saturday?”

“Possibly,” Enjolras frowned, running a hand over his face again. “Whatever I decide to do, it has to be done soon.”

“What is it she wants to do, exactly?” Combeferre asked. “You can’t really do much on your own without a law license, which you won’t have for a few more months.”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “She wants me to prosecute my father…but that’s not the only problem I have right now. There’s something else preoccupying me…”

“Well, what is it?” Combeferre said irritably.

His best friend sighed heavily, and said the words he never thought he’d hear. “I love Éponine…and I’m going to tell her next time I see her.”

He gaped. “But…how can you be sure?”

“You’ll understand when it happens to you, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras said quietly, his voice solemn. “All I know is that I love her, and I have to tell her before I lose her.”

 

“Good afternoon, miss,” the woman behind the desk said to her as she walked into the lobby of the building. She was smiling at Éponine and seemed friendly enough. “How can I help you today?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Richard Enjolras; is he here?” Éponine asked, sounding a lot more confident than she felt.

She chuckled. “The father or the son?”

“The son,” she admitted with a bit of a blush.

The secretary smiled kindly. “He’s in the office. Come with me; I’ll show you in. What’s your name, dear?”

“Éponine Jondrette.”

“Right this way, Ms. Jondrette,” she said, smiling. Éponine followed the woman through a small hallway to a door with a golden plaque that said “Richard Enjolras” on the front. She knocked firmly, interrupting the two men on the other side of it as they talked. “Yes?” Enjolras’ voice called out.

“Another woman’s here to see you, Mr. Enjolras,” Colette said. “Éponine Jondrette.”

“Send her in,” he said.

Éponine opened the door and shyly poked her head in, smiling when she saw Enjolras behind the desk. “Hello again,” she grinned. “I take it this is Mr. Combeferre?” she said, also acknowledging the sandy-haired man sitting on the edge of the desk.

“Indeed I am!” he laughed, extending a hand for her to shake. “John Combeferre, as you noticed. You must be Éponine,” he said with a warm smile. “Our friend Enjolras here has already told me so much about you.”

“All good things; all good things!” Enjolras laughed when Éponine gave him a mock eyebrow of disapproval, and all three of them started laughing. However, when he looked closer at her, he could see something behind her eyes…what was it? _Come to think of it, that laugh was a little forced…_

“Hey, ‘Ferre…” he said hesitantly as the moment faded. “Could you…give us a minute?”

Combeferre sensed it was time for him to leave. _After all, the Marble Man has to confess the newfound crack in his heart_. “Of course,” he nodded, exiting the office and shutting the door behind him. The door was barely shut when she spoke.

“Listen, Enjolras…there’s something I need to tell you…” Éponine said heavily. She was clearly pained to be saying it, and Enjolras was alarmed for a moment.

_What if she doesn’t feel the same way as I do? What if I’ve gotten the wrong impression from her?_

_Calm down, Richard; you’re being paranoid._ “Do you want to sit down?” he asked hurriedly, helping her sit across from the desk as he pulled his chair around. “Can I get you anything? Do you need a glass of water?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine…it’s just that…I should have told you this a long time ago, but I never worked up the guts to say it…”

Enjolras put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Éponine…I actually have something to tell you, too…”

They looked at each other, and simultaneously, they spoke.

“I love you, Éponine.”

“Enjolras, I’m a prostitute.”


	7. Leaving Her

Enjolras was struck dumb when he heard her words. He couldn’t believe it…his Éponine was a prostitute? _Father was right after all, I suppose. I turned my back on her, and look what happened._ “Oh, what a fucking day…” he groaned under his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching on his knees.

“Before you say anything else, please let me explain myself,” she begged, clearly already on the verge of tears. “I wanted to tell you before, but I didn’t know how.”

“What is there to explain, Éponine?” he said coldly, looking away from her. “I think you’ve already told me everything I need to know.”

She tried not to wince. “No…I haven’t.”

Now he turned to face her, and she could hardly bear to see the anger, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes. “What else could you possibly tell me that could be pertinent after that?” he snapped, making her wince. “As I’ve said, I think you’ve told me everything I need to know.”

“And I’ve told _you,_ I haven’t said everything I need to say,” she retorted, pausing to take a breath. “I didn’t give you my actual last name when we met. It’s a pseudonym that I’ve been using for years…so I couldn’t be traced back to my father.”

Enjolras was trying not to scream. _First there was everything that Fantine told me, now Éponine’s a prostitute…what could possibly make this worse?_ “Alright…now seems like an opportune time to tell me,” he said measuredly.

She looked away, shamefaced, and barely whispered the last name on Earth that he wanted to hear.

“Thénardier.”

He gaped at her in shock. She was the daughter of one of the most notorious thieves of New York, and the one that his father was currently in court prosecuting. “Jesus Christ…you’re Thénardier’s daughter. Of course,” he said to himself, standing up. “Of _course,_ if you’re going to be the daughter of a criminal, it has to be the one that my father’s trying to throw in jail right now!” He ran a hand over his hair, before unexpectedly slamming his fists on the desk. “Goddammit!”

“Enjolras, please…stop yelling,” she whispered, curling up in a fetal position in the chair.

“What the hell do you expect me to do?!” he shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer as he paced behind the desk. “My entire perception of my father has been turned on its head in less than half an hour, and now you tell me this? Am I supposed to accept it all without batting an eye? Am I supposed to act like this is all _normal_ , Éponine?! Because I can’t! I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I sure as hell don’t know who you are! WHERE DOES IT END, ÉPONINE?!”

By the time Enjolras’ tirade ended, she was sobbing, her face buried in her knees. Her entire body shook as she wailed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to cross the office to comfort her. Instead, he turned his back and forced himself to ignore her crying. His angry last words hung in the air like a dense fog. If Richard Enjolras, Jr. was like his father in one way, is was that he was not quick to forgive.

After a while, she started to quiet down. When he looked over his shoulder, she was looking back at him with red, puffy eyes. “You asked me where it ends?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It ends here.” He stood still as she left the room, slamming the door behind her. He could still hear her crying as she left the building.

Enjolras groaned quietly to himself as he sat back down behind the desk, holding his head in his hands again. _God…how am I possibly going to tell Father about all of this…? I never saw it ending like this…oh God…_

The door slowly creaked open, and promptly interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “Enjolras?” Combeferre almost squeaked, barely peeking around the edge of the door.

“Come in,” his best friend answered a little hoarsely, still looking away from the door. “I’m all done screaming.”

“Care to explain what just happened?”

He groaned again. “Make yourself comfortable again.”

 

Éponine ran blindly through the streets, not caring who saw her cry, who she ran into, or even where she was going. She just wanted to get away; she couldn’t even stand to think about him. She had always been told, since she was a little girl, that the truth was supposed to set her free…but the anger and hurt in his eyes today when she finally told him the truth had been too much to bear.

She finally found herself outside the general store that housed the Whitehorse as she sank to her knees in tears. He had told her that he loved her, and she had answered him by screwing everything up.

_Now he’s gone forever._

Éponine didn’t know how long she knelt there on the sidewalk, crying, ignoring the gawking stares of all the passersby. It was cathartic for her to unleash the anguish she already felt from losing him. She ignored the footsteps behind her until she felt Mac wrap his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as she cried. “Éponine, dear…” he murmured. “Tell me what happened?”

“I’ve lost him, Mac,” she sobbed. “He never wants to see me again, and I can never get him back after this…oh God, what have I done?” she sobbed even harder. Her sentences slowly turned into random babbling, until Mac had to take her inside. They sat down in the back room where all the alcohol was stored, and Éponine tried to dry her tears. “He told me he loves me, Mac…and now I’ve lost him forever.”

“Who on earth are you talking about, Éponine?” he asked, wiping his big hands off on his apron. “I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know.”

She took a shuddering breath before she answered him. “Richard Enjolras. He told me today that he loved me, and…” she couldn’t bear to tell Mac her secret too, and she broke down in sobs again.

Mac gaped at her in utter shock. _“Richard?”_ he whispered. “I didn’t think the man was capable of love…”

“What do you mean?” she sniffled in a small voice.

“For the longest time, he’s been unable – and seemingly unwilling – to connect to a woman,” Mac explained. “He told me that his law school friends even nicknamed him the ‘Marble Man’ because of it. I never anticipated the way he’d open up when I introduced him to you. No matter what happens, Éponine, you’ve changed him for the better.”

She sniffled again, drying her tears. “I suppose you’re right…I just can’t see it anymore. Not after he got so angry…”

Mac hugged her sympathetically again. “Come, have a drink,” he said, opening up a bottle of brandy. “There’s a spare cot in here; if you don’t want to go home, you can sleep here tonight.”

“Thank you, Mac,” she said, smiling a little.

 

Enjolras drove away from the office after saying his goodbyes to Combeferre and Colette, still in disbelief over the events of the day. He knew he had to talk to his father about everything soon, but he was dreading the moment of confrontation. Nonetheless, he drove to his father’s apartment, trying to figure out how he could find the journal and swipe it without his father noticing.

He parked on the street and went up to his father’s door, knocking firmly three times. “Who is it?” the voice sounded.

“It’s me, Father,” he answered loudly. “I want to talk to you.”

Richard Enjolras, Sr. opened the door, still looking surprised to see his son. “What is it, Richard?” he asked, concerned.

The younger man sighed. “You were right, Father.”

“Well of course I was,” his father answered pompously; Enjolras thought he saw his chest puff out a little bit. “I always am. What was I right about this time?”

“Éponine,” he answered. “She’s a prostitute.”

His father’s eyebrows went straight up. “Come in and we’ll talk.” He stepped into his father’s apartment, unsurprised by how immaculately it was kept. It hardly felt lived in as he shed his coat and dress shoes, sitting down in front of the coffee table. “Now, tell me about this prostitute of yours,” his father said snidely as he sat down next to his son.

Enjolras glared at his father for a moment before speaking again. “Don’t talk about her like that, Father.”

“Oh, one minute you’re saying I was right, and now you’re defending her again?” his father asked in exasperation. “My God, Richard; make up your damn mind about the woman!”

“She’s been a good woman to me!” Enjolras barked. He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I still wish she had been honest with me…” he said irritably, “but I don’t want you to say that about her.”

“What did I tell you when you were a boy, Richard?” his father said sternly. “When we would drive to my office in the morning? I know you still remember.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “‘They all end up like Fantine Tholomyés,’” he quoted. The words were so much bitterer on his tongue after his meeting with her that day. “No. I will not let Éponine be subject to that fate. She deserves so much better, and I want to be the one to show her that.”

His father snorted. “Oh, my son. Don’t lose your senses entirely because you’re dizzy with a dame. Who turned out to be a prostitute, may I remind you.”

“Not because she wanted to be,” he said quietly.

The elder Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

The younger man sighed, recounting the events of her visit to the office, including everything he had said following. “I was probably harsher to her than I should have been…but I was just so angry…”

“Rightly so,” his father answered as snidely as before. “She lied to you, son.”

“Not because she wanted to,” he said as quietly as before, standing up. “Say, Father,” he said casually, “Do you still have the journal you kept as a young man?”

“Why do you ask?” his father snapped.

Enjolras froze for a second. “I just remember that you kept one, and I wanted to see the entry from when I was born.” _Whew. Good save, Richard._

“In my room, on the bookshelf,” he grunted. “You can take it with you for a few days, if you like. Just be sure to bring it back.”

He could barely keep from sighing heavily in relief as he went back and fetched it. The leather bound book was small, with his father’s full name etched on the front. He put it in his suit pocket, resolving to go through it later that night. “Have you got a drink anywhere? I’m parched,” he said as he went back out to the front.

“Kitchen, secret cabinet. What do you want?”

The two men walked in the direction of the liquor. “Whiskey, if you’ve got it,” Enjolras said.

“A fresh bottle,” his father grinned. “Mac couldn’t keep everything he got on this last shipment, so he gave it to me.”

The younger man couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds perfect.”

Father and son drank for a few more hours, but the son was careful not to let anything important about Fantine slip into the conversation. _You’re her lawyer now. Confidentiality is an issue._ It was so hard for him to look at his father in the same, idolized way that he had as a boy. Knowing the truth…it made him anxious to go through the journal. _Maybe Fantine is right…only one way to find out._

Enjolras got back to his apartment around 10:30, thankful that he hadn’t had too much whiskey with his father. He had some digging to do, and he needed a clear head in order to do it well. He found himself slightly afraid of what he was about to find, but knew it was what had to be done. _I have to find out if Fantine was right._

So he sat down at his kitchen table, opened the journal with a deep breath, and began to read.

 

_25 July, 1901_

_Maëlys gave birth to our first child today – a large, healthy boy. Richard Heiland Enjolras, Jr. was born at 2:30 in the afternoon. He weighed 8.5 pounds, 6 ounces and measured 20 inches long. She only labored for a few hours, and was never in much pain. The doctors were amazed that he was her fist child, with how quick and smooth the birth was for both of them._

_Is it not, however, the natural affinity of woman to be suited to easy childbirth? With society’s expectations to marry and bear sons to carry on the family name – as my Maëlys has now done – evolution will sooner or later cater to that, if it has not already done so. When a woman is able to easily produce a son, she has fulfilled her purpose._

Enjolras nearly gagged at the misogyny he was reading. He’d never known what a bigot his father could be, but he forced himself to keep going.

 

_So far, baby Richard has been mostly quiet and calm. We are not yet allowed to bring him home from the hospital; the doctors wish to keep him and Maëlys under observation for a few days, to ensure that they both continue to do well._

_As for myself, I am simultaneously overjoyed to be a father, and nervous of the duties I now face. I have another member of the family to consider in every decision I make, and he will probably be another distraction from work, especially while Maëlys will be recovering from the birth. She will, no doubt, need my help with him._

_As I write this, the two of them are in the bed to my right, sound asleep. Maëlys is holding Richard against her chest; I believe he fell asleep nursing. I am also beginning to feel tired, and I shall close my eyes for a few moments now._

A grainy black and white photograph was paper-clipped into the entry, showing a smiling young woman and an almost-smiling man. The woman was sitting up in a bed, holding a baby in her arms. The man had one arm around the woman’s shoulders, but it almost looked domineering, rather than affectionate.

_One of the doctors must have taken this for my parents after I was born. I’m that baby._

Enjolras smiled a bit at the image of his mother looking so happy. It was the only time he’d ever seen what her smile looked like. He gently reached out and touched the picture, wishing she were still there, and that his father wasn’t so rough around the edges.

_How different things would be now…I miss you, Mother._

He allowed himself a few moments of nostalgia, skimming the words on the page back over a few times, before he flipped through several pages to another, much shorter entry.

 

_18 September, 1903_

_I have just made possibly the worst mistake of my adult life thus far. I had too much to drink last night, and as a result, I must have gone to bed with Fantine Leblanc last night, because I woke up in her hovel this morning. She sleeps in the bed as I quickly write this; I must get home as soon as I can._

_Maëlys will be distraught that I never made it back last night, and I don’t know how I will have to explain myself to her. Oh God, what have I done to myself? To my marriage? To my two-year-old son? He’s just learning to talk now, and my wife has been stricken with some kind of sadness for the last two years since his birth. The doctors can’t figure out what it is. Every time I look at them now, I will only be filled with guilt for this wicked sin I have committed._

Enjolras was nearly ill. So far, she’d been correct, right down to the exact date that they’d slept together. Even though his father’s entry seemed incredibly upset and contrite, the facts hadn’t changed.

He turned a few more pages and kept reading, his heart racing wildly.

 

_26 November, 1903_

_I saw Fantine again today, when I was in town while Maëlys was at home with the baby. I did not go back into her bed, but she told me that she is with child. She does not know if the baby is mine, or that of her other lover, Felix Tholomyés. I pray to God that it is not so, and that my conscience can stay as clear as possible. If I have a child by another woman and it becomes public, the scandal would be too much for my budding law firm to bear. I have everything to lose now._

_Maëlys went back to her doctors today, and her melancholia is only getting worse. I keep trying to tell her that she has no reason to be sad – I provide for the both of us, and for our son, who is as happy and healthy as ever, and incredibly attached to his mother. Every time I turn my back, I hear her crying when she thinks I’m out of earshot. I don’t know what’s come over her, and I don’t know how to make it better._

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep breathing. He still had no definite proof that he had a half-sibling from Fantine, but so far, everything seemed to be lining up with what she’d told him in the office. He re-read the entry several times, hoping the words in front of his eyes would change, but there they stayed.

 _I need some proof. I need_ more.

He turned frantically to another entry – several months later, and only one short paragraph.

 

_27 June, 1904_

_Fantine had her child today – a little girl, whom she named Euphraise. She has informed me that we are to call her “Cosette” around anyone else, so others will not know her parentage. I still do not know if she is Felix Tholomyés’ child, or mine, but I hope to soon find out._

_28 June, 1904_

_Maëlys’ melancholia continues to worsen. She cries all the time now, even in front of Richard. He doesn’t know why his mother is so sad, and he tries in his simple ways to make her feel better. It breaks my heart to see this brokenness in my family that I did nothing to prevent. I can only pray that Fantine’s child is not mine, and that Maëlys never knows of my affair._

The next entry was not until the worst day of his life. The page was still crusted with tearstains and spots where the ink had run.

 

_13 July, 1905_

_My Maëlys is dead. God help me, my wife is dead. I came home from the firm this afternoon, and she was dead on the bathroom floor. Richard was, thank the heavens, still asleep. When I arrived home, there were pill bottles scattered everywhere, and the medicine cabinet was hanging open, I do not know what drove her to this, but I can only assume that the melancholia got the better of her. I am alone now, with a son to raise and a law firm to manage. I don’t know how to do this on my own. I loved my Maëlys, and maybe I never said it enough._

_I don’t know how long I knelt there with her, holding her and crying, begging her to come back. What am I to do without her? What am I to do with my son, and the little girl that may or may not be mine? How can I support all of them? I can only conclude that Fantine Leblanc seduced me, and I will not support her, even if the child is mine. I do not care anymore._

_Good God…she was right._

He let out a shaking breath. Now all he needed was to see the girl.


	8. Seeing Her

Enjolras barely slept that night. All he could think of was his father, his mother, Fantine, Cosette, the girl who may or may not be his half-sister…everything he’d ever known had been turned upside down, and only in the space of one day.

As he slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep, he realized that Éponine hadn’t left his mind either…

 

 _He was reliving the afternoon in the office again, pacing the floor and screaming in rage at her. He could hear her sobbing as clear as day, washing around him, surrounding him…_ terrifying _him. He didn’t know what it was that scared him, but all he wanted was out. When she looked up at him again, the betrayal in her eyes was all the clearer, and it was a knife to his heart. Why had he done nothing for her? Why had he let her cry?_

Because she lied to me, _the voice in his head insisted._ Why should I listen to anything she has to say? She used me!

_As if the Éponine in his dreams could hear his thoughts, the terror and betrayal in her eyes only grew. “You asked me where it ends? It ends here. I wish I had never met you, Richard Enjolras.”_

Enjolras started awake, breathing heavily and holding stock still in bed. It took him a moment to realize that he had the sheets in a death grip, and he gradually loosened his fists, trying to slow down his pounding heart. He turned his head enough to see the large clock against the next wall, which read 3:05 a.m.

He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and sighing heavily. Why had the dream bothered him so much? Why did he so badly want her to be part of his life, despite everything she’d told him? He sighed again in frustration, rubbing his temples.

_I just can’t get her out of my head…_

_She was back in the office, listening to him scream in rage after she’d told him her secret, which was when everything was supposed to be clear between them. No more deception, no more lying by omission, she’d thought. But everything had gone all wrong, and now here she was, cowering in fear and listening to his yelling._

_When it finally ended, she was afraid to look up from her fetal position. But she did, only to see his eyes filled with hatred. She couldn’t bear to see that look on his face. But when she turned around, her father and Montparnasse were standing in the doorway._

_“Hello, sweetie,” Montparnasse purred in a voice like poisonous honey, before he and her father each grabbed one of her arms and dragged her out of the office, screaming._

Éponine shot bolt upright in her bed from the nightmare, panting and drenched in a cold sweat. She swallowed hard as she slowly came to her senses, realizing that she was only in her apartment, in her bed.

_Alone. Like you always are, ‘Ponine._

As she slowly lay back down, her slender fingers involuntarily stretched out to the other side of the bed, as if to reach out for another person there. She sighed to herself, only a little resentful when they tightened around empty sheets.

And for some inexplicable reason, the only man she wanted to see there was Richard Enjolras…

After they’d kissed, she’d thought – she’d _known_ – that there were mutual feelings there. The way he’d looked into her eyes before she leaned in for it…Éponine wasn’t too experienced when it came to love, but her gut told her that Richard Enjolras had felt something that night, even if neither of them knew what it was. She wished they could go back to the time they spent together before everything had gone wrong.

She could picture him there when she closed her eyes – his arm was closely wrapped around her waist as she curled into his warm chest, her head resting over his heart. She’d listen to the constant bass rhythm that kept him alive, her breathing aligning with it as she slowly drifted off…

 

Enjolras woke up around 7:00 a.m. the next morning, weary and sore. With a hint of dread, he realized that it was Saturday. Fantine would be coming to his apartment today, hopefully with her daughter – his possible half-sister – in tow. He got out of bed with a heavy sigh and got ready for the day, even putting on a suit and tie. After all, this was a meeting with a client; he had to dress the part.

He was drinking his coffee and reading the paper – there was an article about Thénardier’s upcoming trial, and he tried not to think of Éponine – when he heard the timid knock at the door. Glad for the distraction, he put down his coffee and went to the door, where two hooded women met him.

“Mr. Enjolras,” a familiar voice murmured, looking down.

“I told you to call me Richard, Fantine,” he said quietly, ushering them in as he shut the door behind them. “I assume this is your daughter?”

Fantine nodded as she cast off her hood, but the girl – Euphraise – left hers on. “This is my daughter, Euphraise or Cosette.”

“Ms. Tholomyés,” Enjolras murmured, inclining his head to her.

“Take off your hood, my dear,” Fantine murmured to her. Two slender hands reached up to push it down, and Enjolras couldn’t help but gasp when he saw her face.

If his father had been a twenty-something-year-old woman, it would be the one standing in front of him. Her big blue eyes were the exact same shade as his, and she had long blonde hair that tumbled in curls around her shoulders. She was slim; the same wiry build as her mother, but the face of his father – _our father,_ he realized.

“My God…” he whispered, looking at her for a moment longer before his gaze shifted to Fantine. “So it’s true.”

The brunette woman nodded as she sat down on the sofa. “I assume you read your father’s journal?”

“It kept me from sleeping last night,” he replied, grim and unsmiling. “I practically idolized him as a child…it’s hard for me to reconcile the way I’ve always seen him with the way he truly is.” He sighed heavily. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Obviously I’ll help you; I just don’t know if we can pull it off.”

“Hopefully, a jury would have the same reaction you just did,” Fantine remarked dryly.

Enjolras snorted. “I should hope so.” He turned to Cosette. “You are the spitting image of our father,” he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue. “How do you feel about appearing in court?” The girl looked surprised that he had addressed her, and clearly didn’t know what to say. She glanced at her mother, who nodded at her to speak.

“What would I have to do?” she asked in a small voice.

Enjolras was surprised at how timid she sounded, but proceeded to answer her in what he hoped wasn’t an overly lawyer-esque tone. “Since your mother wants to prosecute Father for never sending child support for you, your presence in court would be confirmation to the jury that you are also his child, and would be, in essence, the clincher we’d need to prove him guilty,” he explained. “If the resemblance doesn’t convince a jury, then the journal entries I read last night certainly will.” He noticed as he spoke that Fantine was listening intently as she pulled her tattered shawl tighter around her shoulders. There was a steely gleam in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before, like she was determined to get what she wanted this time. “He incriminated himself 28 years ago, without even trying.”

“So all I need to do is be there?” Cosette asked quietly.

“If all goes the way I plan, you’ll need to come forward to the front of the courtroom and stand next to him, facing the judge and the jury when I ask it of you,” Enjolras said. “Past that, I’ll be showing the jury the entries I read from Father’s journal and questioning him about them. We should have him snared in the cross-examination.”

“And what if they try to blame me for everything?” Fantine asked quietly. “For ‘seducing’ him?”

Enjolras pondered for a moment before answering. It was a potential snag, and not one he’d thought of before now. “He mentions in one journal entry that he doesn’t remember how he got to you,” Enjolras said slowly. “Therefore, he can’t definitely claim you seduced him if he has no memory except waking up with you. If you’re willing, you could always go on the stand and testify to your innocence,” he added.

“I’m a woman,” she remarked shrewdly. “Would they listen to me?”

“If I call you to the stand, they’ll have no choice but to listen,” Enjolras said firmly. “The jury has to listen to whomever the lawyers call up, regardless of sex.”

She smiled grimly. “Thank you, Richard.”

“You’re welcome, Fantine,” he said with a small nod. “I think we’ve accomplished a lot today. I’ll let you know next time I’m filling in at my father’s office, and you can come see me.”

 

Éponine woke up in the back room of the Whitehorse feeling particularly well-rested. She sat up slightly in the small bed, curling her knees up to her chest and thinking about the nightmare she’d had last night. As she sat there by herself, Éponine began to wonder if she would ever see Enjolras again. The optimistic part of her prayed she would, but she knew it was incredibly unlikely. _How am I supposed to fix_ that _fight? I can’t take care of all that anger on my own._

She finally made herself get up, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes, and walked towards the main room of the speakeasy, her bare feet padding softly across the hard concrete floor. She shivered a little, wishing she had her robe to put on.

But when she opened the door, she couldn’t have anticipated what awaited her. There were 3 police officers in the speakeasy, and a clearly terrified Mac was being put in handcuffs. “Mac!” She cried.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” one of the officers said menacingly. “Running two side businesses at once, Mac? I must say, I’m impressed.”

Mac was clearly flabbergasted at the accusation. “W-what? No! She’s not – I’m not – ”

“I’m not a prostitute!” Éponine nearly shrieked. She felt a twinge of guilt for the bitter lie on her tongue, mostly because it made her think of the conversation with Enjolras yesterday that had spawned her nightmare. “And he’s not a pimp!”

The officer’s laugh was so… _evil_ that it almost made Éponine sick. “All evidence to the contrary, my dear,” he said to her. “Why else would you be waking up in the back of his speakeasy, hmm?”

“Because he’s my boss, and I couldn’t go home last night!” she said, trying not to cry. When she realized what she said, her hand flew to her mouth. _Shit!_ _What’s going to happen now? They know I work at a speakeasy, and they think I’m being pimped out by Mac…they’re going to arrest us both. Will either of us even get a trial?_

One of the cops that had handcuffed Mac now spoke up, eyeing her. “Your boss, eh?” He nodded to the third officer, who was lounging on the bar. “We’ll take her in, too.”

Éponine shrank behind the door in fear as the officer approached her with handcuffs; Mac could only look on, powerless to stop it. “Wait – please!” she cried as he roughly grabbed her shoulder, slapping the first cuff onto her wrist before he paused, looking closely at her face.

“You…” he murmured.

That was all it took for Éponine to recognize him – she remembered that her father had forced her to seduce him a few weeks ago, just before she started working at the Whitehorse. “You…!” she echoed in a quiet whisper of mortal fear.

“You two know each other?” one of the other officers asked, sounding both surprised and impatient.

“A whore like this one? I wouldn’t be caught dead with someone like her,” he spat coldly as he finished cuffing her.

His superior regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before he relaxed. “You better not,” he said, still eyeing the two of them. “Now come on, let’s get these two downtown.”

 

Enjolras spent the rest of his day brooding on Fantine and Cosette, and how he was supposed to prosecute his father. It was going to be a difficult case, considering his lack of solid evidence and experience in the courtroom. He’d watched most of his father’s open-courtroom cases since he was a child; ever since Mother died, he couldn’t have stayed home on his own. The worst thing about having to prosecute a lawyer was that he would know every trick in the book. Enjolras was trying to prove the guilt of a man who’d taught him everything he knew. His father would be able to predict his every move.

After an uneasy sleep, he got up at 6:00 am on Sunday morning to get ready for Mass with his father at St. Peter’s. The two men went faithfully every week, and had for as long as the younger Enjolras could remember.

As he put on his suit and tie, a dream from the previous night flashed briefly through his mind…

 

_He stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie and smoothing down his shirt for church. Two hands appeared on his shoulders, slender fingers curling onto his chest as his wife’s grinning face popped into the glass. “Hello, you,” Éponine grinned as he turned around to face her. She was wearing a simple blue dress that cinched at the waist and fell to her mid-calves with sensible white shoes. Her long hair was tied back loosely._

_“Mmh, hello,” he smiled, kissing her lips softly. His hand went to rest on her waist as hers went to his chest. “Ready to go?”_

_“Almost,” she said. Enjolras followed his wife into the nursery across the hall from their room, where their infant son lay sound asleep in his crib. Henry Richard Enjolras yawned deeply, waving his tiny fists in his sleep as his mother picked him up and cradled him in her arms, smiling at her husband. His heart filled with pride as he looked at his wife and son. He kissed the baby boy’s forehead and smiled at Éponine. “Alright, let’s go.”_

He came back to reality stock still, his hands still on his tie. He shook his head briefly to clear it as he finished cinching it up. _It’s never going to happen, Richard. That baby boy is never going to be real._

For the whole drive to the church, Enjolras thought about Éponine, and what she’d done to him. He’d noticed that he’d been angrier ever since she left. He didn’t know if he was angry with himself or with her, but his outlook on the world seemed to be grayer. That woman had done something to him, and the fact that he didn’t know what it was vexed him to no end.

The congregation was milling around and chatting outside the church when Enjolras rolled into the parking lot 15 minutes before the start of the service. He spotted his father standing outside the door, engaged in conversation with the new priest, a young man who was just out of school. He caught his father’s attention from the door of his car and walked over.

“Ah good, you made it,” his father said as he arrived.

“Of course I made it, Father. Why would I miss?” Enjolras answered, trying not to be angry at his father’s pretentious attitude. And that was another thing – his temper had gotten significantly shorter since the horrible confrontation with Éponine. It was as though he couldn’t tolerate questions, or anything past his normal routine. His father’s lip curled, but he didn’t answer; instead turning his back to go into the church.

“Mr. Enjolras? Are you well?” The priest asked him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Enjolras hadn’t noticed his angry, labored breathing until the man spoke to him. “I’m fine,” he said, attempting to calm down. “Just feeling…burdened,” he said haltingly. It wasn’t a lie, he decided; there was quite a bit on his mind.

“Come in, and lay your burdens down at the feet of God,” the man smiled, leading him into the church. Enjolras couldn’t lie; he felt a little better as he walked in alongside the priest and sat next to his father in one of the pews close to the front of the church.

However, as soon as the Mass started again, he felt only as though he were going through the motions – making the sign of the cross, standing and sitting as was appropriate, reciting the prayers from memory the way he had since he was a small child. The priest’s message that day was even on the importance of the family unit, and all Enjolras could think of was his dream about Éponine. It had all felt so real – her hands on his shoulders, her smile, her laugh, her kiss…

 _Stop it, Richard,_ he scolded himself. _You can’t do this to yourself for the rest of your life. She’s never going to be yours, and you have to let it go. Let_ her _go. It’s never going to happen._

Finally, the Mass ended. As they were putting on their coats to leave, his father spoke for the first time since before the service.

“I want you to take on a case for me.”

Enjolras was slightly surprised; his father had never actually wanted him to work in the courtroom, only observe. “Why?” he asked, unable to keep a slight note of suspicion out of his voice.

“Now that you’re out of law school, I want to see how much you can handle,” he said as they filed out with the rest of the crowd. “I want to know I’ll be leaving my firm in good hands when I decide to retire.”

He considered it for a moment. Was it really wise to take on a case from the man he would soon be attempting to prosecute? Then again, was it really wise to turn down his father? “Alright, what is it?” he asked.

“A few of my cop friends busted a speakeasy the other day,” he said. “They caught the owner and his bartender, who may or may not have been selling herself out of his back room. I want you to take on prosecuting the woman for prostitution.”

Enjolras bristled. He knew exactly what his father was trying to do, and he refused to help him. “I’m not going to throw Éponine in jail, Father. I don’t care what you say.”

“How do you know it’s her?” his father remarked snidely.

“Why else would you want me to take on the case?” he shot back as they stepped out of the church. “You want me to be responsible for finishing her ruin. I can’t do that to her, as angry as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you still care about her,” his father snorted derisively as they slipped through the thinning crowd. “She’s a whore who was only out for your wallet. Trust me, son. I’ve seen too many cases of men falling from grace because they were blind to it. I don’t want to see the same happen to you.”

Enjolras bit his tongue, resisting the urge to make a snide remark that would reveal too much. “I don’t care about her anymore,” he lied through gritted teeth. “But despite that fact, I am a gentleman, and I will not sour my own reputation by ruining hers.”

“You’ll ruin your reputation as a prosecutor before you even take over the firm,” the older man said angrily. “What good is a man as a lawyer if he can’t impartially judge the ones he loves?”

He glared at his father once they reached the car. “We’ll talk about this after you close the Thénardier trial,” he said. “Not before.”

“Done.”

 

Éponine sat on the cold floor of her jail cell, her knees curled up to her chest, and trying not to cry. She couldn’t help but be terrified at the prospects of what could happen. She knew she would likely be going on trial for distribution of alcohol and alleged prostitution. What would happen when she lost both cases?

The rattling of keys in the lock interrupted her train of thought. She looked up, wide-eyed, as the officer who cuffed her earlier that day walked into her tiny cell. He grinned smugly when he saw how afraid she was, and she scooted back against the wall as he closed the door and sauntered over to her. She curled into a fetal position again, whimpering with fear, when she felt two fingers under her chin.

“Look at me.”

It was a command, not a request. Hesitantly, she made eye contact with him. The next thing she heard was a sharp slapping sound before her cheek caught fire. “Now listen to me, you little slut,” he growled, jerking her back around to face him. “I only lied that I didn’t remember you to cover my own ass, not yours. I have a wife and a family, and a reputation to protect; you have nothing. You _are_ nothing. Breathe a word of anything involving me in court, I’ll have your head,” he hissed, before pushing her back into the wall. “Understood?”

She nodded fearfully, now weeping freely. “I won’t say anything, I swear!” she sobbed.

“You damn well better not,” he growled, leaving the cell. Éponine was alone again, and more frightened than ever. She climbed on the thin, rock-hard mattress and pulled up the scratchy blanket, trying to get some sleep, but when she closed her eyes, all she saw was him…

 

_It was their wedding day, and she was the most beautiful she’d ever been. Never had Éponine smiled so much in one day. As she walked up the aisle, she could tell that he couldn’t believe his eyes, and looking at him, she was the happiest she’d ever been._

_She finally reached the front of the church, handing her bouquet over to her sister, the maid of honor. Enjolras took her hands in his as she turned to face him, both of them grinning. “You look stunning,” he mouthed to her as he slipped the ring onto her finger. Éponine couldn’t help but blush._

_Then he was kissing her, and everything was perfect._

When she woke up, she was already sobbing.


	9. Saving Her

Thénardier walked into the courtroom behind his lawyer, his hands chained. He kept his head bowed, partly to appear contrite, and partly to hide his angry glare from the judge and jury. The prosecutor and his son were already standing on their side of the courtroom, and the open seats for the public were starting to fill up. He noticed Éponine sitting towards the back, also handcuffed and with a police officer standing over her shoulder. _What’d they get ‘er for?_ He wondered to himself. He forced himself to ignore his daughter as he faced the judge’s bench.

“Auguste Thénardier,” the judge began, “you are here on two counts of theft, and four counts of neglect of minors. How do you plead?”

“I ain’t guilty, yer Hona,” he said resentfully, raising his eyes to look at the judge. “I ain’t a thief, an’ I’m good ta me kids.”

“We’ll see what the witnesses have to say,” the judge answered. “Mr. Enjolras – ” he hesitated when he saw father and son there, before adding, “either of you…you may begin.”

“Your Honor, the prosecution calls Éponine Thénardier to the stand,” the father said firmly before the son could say anything.

“Do we?” he asked quietly out of the corner of his mouth. His father never said anything about the witnesses they’d be bringing in.

“We do,” his father hissed, ending the conversation.

Enjolras turned his head and watched the terrified girl walk up to the front of the courtroom. Mixed emotions raced through him as the juryman walked over to her, Bible in hand. He could see her left hand trembling as it rested on the book, her right raised into the air.

“Éponine Thénardier, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” he asked.

“I do,” she said shakily.

“Sit down, please.”

As the juryman sat back down, she took the stand, and Enjolras walked out from behind the bench, his jaw set. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but his father had insisted he question the first witness they called. He hadn’t mentioned that it was going to be the girl he thought he still loved.

“Ms. Thénardier, can you describe to the jury the quality of living you experienced in your childhood?” he asked as formally as he could. No one else in the room except his father knew that there was history between them, and he intended to keep it hushed until everything was over. After that…he didn’t even know what he wanted to do.

She swallowed hard before answering. “Before or after the death of my mother, Mr. Enjolras?” she asked, her voice still shaking.

“Did it change after your mother’s death?”

She nodded. “Drastically.”

He gestured for her to continue. “Please, tell us how.”

Éponine folded her hands together in her lap, looking down for a moment as she gathered her answer. “Well…before Mama died, we had fresh food on the table every day, clean clothes to wear, and the house and inn were both always well-kept. My siblings and I were all happy, always.”

“Can you please clarify for the jury how many siblings you have?”

“I have one sister and three brothers. All younger than me; the last two boys are twins that were left on the inn’s doorstep as babies.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you. Now, how did things change after your mother’s passing?”

She bit her lip, holding back tears. This was the hard part. If she told the truth, her father would give her the beating of her life later…but if she lied under oath, she’d be in even more trouble with the law than she already was…what was the lesser of two evils? Did she protect her father, or did she protect herself?

“Ms. Thénardier, we need an answer,” the judge said impatiently.

Enjolras paused, looking back and forth between the judge and a clearly very shaken Éponine. Without looking at his father, he approached the stand; she had to try not to recoil until he took a knee in front of her. “Éponine, you have nothing to be afraid of in these four walls,” he said gently; she was surprised at his sudden familiarity with her when he had been so official just moments ago. “Trust me. You’re safe here; you can tell us the truth.” He got back up and reassumed his previous position as Éponine cleared her throat to speak.

“After Mama died…Papa’s grief went out of control,” she said. “It…took him over. It took him away from the five of us. H-he...started spending all of his money on liquor…that’s how the inn went under, and we had to take to the streets,” she explained. “After Prohibition started…” she paused again.

“Keep going, Ms. Thénardier,” Enjolras said gently.

She nodded. Something about the sudden gentleness of his voice made her want to keep talking. “After Prohibition started…that was when he first turned to theft. It was only little things first. He enlisted Azelma – my younger sister – and I to help him. We were both still small; our fingers were still nimble. We could swipe small purses unnoticed off of anyone by the time we were 10 years old.”

“She’s lyin’!” Thénardier shouted, standing up. Enjolras noticed Éponine flinch on the stand. “I didn’ do none o’ that!”

“Mr. Thénardier, let your daughter finish the rest of her testimony uninterrupted,” the judge said firmly. “Go on, Ms. Thénardier.”

“Once Gavroche, the first of my brothers, got older, Papa trained him to do the same,” she continued. “He made us go out into town every day and pick as many pockets as we could. Even as we got older, the rich wouldn’t take note of us the way they would a grown man. Gav took up most of the work once Azelma and I were too tall.”

“Ye shut yer damn mouth, ya hussy!” her father shouted again; this time she did wince. “I’ll kill ya!”

“Mr. Thénardier!” the judge barked.

At that moment, the doors to the courtroom burst open, and gunfire rang loudly through the open space. Immediately, the courtroom was thrown into chaos – everyone ducked for cover or ran to an exit, women screamed, and the judge scrambled to get down from the bench and through the door behind him. Enjolras immediately dropped to his knees before searching for Éponine. He could see her kneeling next to the stand, sobbing in terror. He wondered for a moment if she’d gotten a glimpse of the gunman, but pushed his wondering aside. “Éponine!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, making his way to her as quickly as he could.

“It’s Montparnasse!” she screamed over the bedlam. “He’s the one with the gun! My father’s gang is here to bust him out of court!”

His stomach dropped. _Great. There are more of them._ “Did they know you’d be testifying today?” he shouted as more shots were fired.

“No!”

A court reporter dashed past them, and Enjolras made sure to put himself between Éponine and the pounding herd of feet rushing by. “Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here,” he said, pulling her to her feet. He turned in time just to see the mad gunman – Montparnasse, Éponine had said was his name – heading their way. Enjolras felt sick when he saw that two more men carrying clubs flanked him. “Now!” he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the door.

“You backstabbing little bitch!” the man shouted. Éponine stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Montparnasse.

“Give that stool pigeon the kiss off, ‘Parnasse,” the larger of the cronies growled behind the gunman.

Montparnasse pointed the gun straight at Éponine.

He fired.

“NO!” Enjolras yelled.

He was just too late to take the bullet for her. It grazed his arm before going past him to hit Éponine in the shoulder. She screamed in pain, almost doubling over and clutching her wound. Without thinking, he scooped her up into his arms and kicked open the door behind the judge’s bench, taking just enough time to slam it behind them. He took off running down the long, straight hall, before kicking open the other door to the judge’s chambers.

“Oh…so that’s where the door behind the bench goes,” he muttered.

“What the hell is going on here?!” the judge shouted.

“Your Honor, she’s been shot,” Enjolras said immediately, carefully setting Éponine down to where she could lean on the desk. “We need to call an ambulance immediately.”

The judge’s eyes widened at the turn of events. Without another word, he grabbed the phone on his desk and started dialing. Enjolras turned back to Éponine. “Now, let me see it,” he said gently.

She didn’t realize that she still had a death grip on her own shoulder until her hand slowly peeled away bright red. There was blood all over her shoulder, upper chest, and side, some of her long hair sticking to the wound by consequence. Enjolras brushed it aside as carefully as he could, his fingers skimming gently over her angry lesion for any hint of metal. He prayed to God that the bullet wasn’t already too deep to be removed. She winced a little at his touch, but didn’t shy away.

“It hurts, Enjolras…” she whimpered softly. “It hurts so much…”

Enjolras almost felt like someone was stabbing him when he heard her whispering in so much pain. On impulse, he reached up and yanked off his tie, undoing the knots as quickly as possible. “I know, Éponine,” he whispered, bandaging her injury as best he could. “I know.”

“The ambulance should be here any minute,” the judge said as he hung up the phone as Enjolras wound his tie around her shoulder. “Can we move her down to the main lobby?”

Enjolras looked at her as he carefully finished binding it up. “Do you want to risk going down there?”

“Montparnasse will likely be able to follow you here if you don’t,” she said firmly. “We’d be better off going.”

He nodded. “Alright then, come on.”

The two men carefully shielded Éponine as they made their way to the lobby as quickly as possible. She was able to keep up with them just fine, but keeping her out of pain proved to be an issue. If her arm moved the wrong way, she doubled over with pain. “Come on, Éponine,” he said softly. “We’re almost there.”

They arrived at the lobby just as the ambulance did, much to Enjolras’ relief. With a nod of thanks to the judge, who hurried off to deal with everything else going on inside, Enjolras scooped Éponine into his arms, handing her off to the nurse on board. “She’s been shot in the shoulder,” he said. “I don’t know how deep the bullet is.”

“We’ll take care of her, thank you,” the woman said earnestly, gently setting Éponine down on the tiny stretcher.

“W-wait – are you leaving, Enjolras?” she asked shakily. He noticed her hair was sticking to her face with sweat, and she looked genuinely upset at the thought that she would have to endure the ride to the hospital without him. She looked to the nurse and asked, “Can he come with us?”

“Is he family?”

Just as Enjolras was about to say no, Éponine beat him to the draw. “He’s my fiancé.”

“Then of course he can,” she said gently, closing the doors.

Somehow, Enjolras managed to remain calm as he took a seat next to Éponine on the ambulance. Inside, his head was exploding. Why had she claimed that he was her fiancé? What had happened to the angry Éponine that had told him in the office, _“It ends here”?_ What had changed to make her want him to stay?

 _She got shot, you idiot. And you helped her._ That’s _what changed._

“Enjolras, you’re bleeding,” she said quietly, pointing to his arm. He looked down, following her gaze, and noticed a thin cut on his upper arm. The nurse had heard, and quickly patched him up.

“You’re going to be okay, ‘Ponine,” he murmured quietly, stroking her wet hair back from her forehead. As calm as he acted, he was terrified. What if her injury got infected and she died? He didn’t want do think about what he’d do if her life ended.

 _Then stop thinking like that,_ he told himself.

 

What happened after their arrival at the hospital would become a blur in Enjolras’ memory. He remembered helping the nurses get Éponine through the doors, signing in at a desk, and endless hours of waiting. Sometimes he paced the floor, other times he prayed, still others he read from the small copy of Søren Kierkegaard’s _Fear and Trembling_ that he kept in the pocket of his suit jacket. _An appropriate title for this scenario,_ he thought dryly to himself. He flipped a few pages, opening up to the middle of the Problemata section.

 

_Faith is therefore no aesthetic emotion, but something far higher, exactly because it presupposes resignation; it is not the immediate inclination of the heart but the paradox of existence. Thus that a young girl in the face of all difficulties rests assured that her desire will be fulfilled in no way means that her certainty is that of faith, even if she has been brought up by Christian parents and perhaps gone for a whole year to the pastor. She is convinced in all her childlike simplicity and innocence. This assurance too ennobles her nature and gives her a preternatural dimension, so that like a worker of wonders she can charm the finite powers of existence and make even stones weep, while on the other hand in her distraction she can just as well run to Herod as to Pilate and move the whole world with her pleas. Her conviction is ever so lovable, and one can learn much from her, but one thing one does not learn from her, how to make movements. Her certainty does not dare look the impossibility in the eye in the pain of resignation._

He sighed to himself. He should have known that existential philosophy was not the best place to look for comfort in times of trial. He leafed through the rest of the small volume, trying not to think about her, to no avail. More than anything, his brain burned to know why Montparnasse was so desperate to keep Éponine silent. Obviously, there were criminal charges he wanted to avoid, but what other reason could he have?

“Mr. Enjolras?” a woman’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

He looked up at a nurse as he put his book away, walking quickly to her. “Yes? How’s Éponine?”

“She’s stable and doing fine,” the nurse said calmly. “The doctor was able to remove the bullet and clean the wound. He expects that she’ll fully recover, and quickly.”

He was visibly relieved. “Thank God. Can I see her?”

“That was her request also, actually,” the nurse chuckled. “Follow me, I’ll take you to her.”

Enjolras followed the nurse up a few flights of stairs and through several different wards before they finally got to Éponine. She was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling and drumming her fingers on the thin sheets. He noticed that her shoulder was very tightly bound, and the cloth was only slightly red. She smiled when she saw Enjolras come in through the door, and he couldn’t help but smile as he crossed the room towards her. “How are you feeling?” he murmured gently, sitting next to her bed and taking her hand. He hadn’t forgotten to play the part of fiancé.

“Fine,” she said with a nod. “My shoulder’s almost completely numb, but at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He smiled a little. “I’m glad.” He turned to the nurse. “How much longer will she need to stay here?”

“Only a couple of days, to ensure that the wound doesn’t get infected,” the nurse said. “The doctors sterilized it as soon as we brought her in, but they don’t want to take any risks.”

Enjolras nodded in understanding. “Fantastic. I’m glad to hear it.” After the nurse left the room, Éponine spoke.

“You tried to take ‘Parnasse’s bullet for me in the courtroom.”

Enjolras sighed quietly. “Yes.”

“But…why?”

He groaned to himself and rubbed his eyes; he’d been hoping to avoid this discussion for at least a little while longer. “It’s…very difficult to explain, Éponine.”

“What’s so difficult about it?” she snapped. He was surprised at her sudden feistiness, even though he knew he should have seen it coming. “You either care about me, or you don’t, and I’m not going to continue this ruse if you don’t care. So which is it?”

They glared at each other for a moment, neither one knowing what to say. Enjolras didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her because she was alive, or kick her because she was so damn stubborn. “I don’t know,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re not the only enigma in my life right now, Éponine. There’s a lot that I still have to figure out.” Éponine paused before she answered him.

“Then let me help you,” she whispered.

He clenched his jaw. “Why?” he half-growled.

“Because I want to,” she said stubbornly, sitting up in bed. “And because…I like to think you’d do the same for me. Or that you would have; I don’t blame you if you don’t after our last…discussion,” she said gingerly, trailing off awkwardly when she finished.

Enjolras sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Éponine…” he sighed heavily. “I still don’t know how I feel, and I’m not ready to discuss it. Okay?”

Her face fell, and she looked away, and he was somewhat upset that he had hurt her. “Alright,” she murmured. “I won’t push you.”

“Thank you.”

 

Despite his better judgment, Enjolras spent the night in a chair next to Éponine’s hospital bed, his head tilted back and his hands folded over his stomach, still in his bloody suit. Éponine fell asleep not long after their talk, and Enjolras debated for a while on whether or not to stay. As soon as he decided to settle in for the night, he heard the door creaking open. He sat up, expecting a nurse, but when he made eye contact with the young woman that came through the door, he knew she was not.

She looked to be a little younger than Éponine, and wore an old dress that looked like it needed a cleaning. Enjolras noticed immediately how thin she was; she was almost a sack of skin and bones. Her long, curly hair came down around her shoulders, and she was wringing her thin hands as she slowly crossed the room to them.

“You must be the lawyer she talked about,” the girl murmured quietly.

Enjolras frowned. “Pardon?”

“I’m Azelma. Éponine’s sister,” she said. “She talked about you when we last saw each other a few days ago.”

He suddenly felt guilty for rejecting Éponine all over again, and had to avoid her gaze. “So I take it you’re angry with me, too?” he asked quietly.

The girl – Azelma – studied him for a moment. She looked exactly like Éponine, and he would have mistaken her if the latter hadn’t been in the hospital bed between them. “No,” she answered quietly.

Enjolras looked back up at her, more than a little surprised. “No?”

“No,” she repeated simply, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m just worried about my sister.” Azelma paused. “When I heard there was a shooting at the courthouse today…I was mostly frightened because I knew who did it. I didn’t know Éponine would be testifying. When ‘Parnasse said he’d hit her but didn’t kill her, I came straight here to see her.” She looked up at him. “Were you…there?”

He nodded. “I’m one of the prosecutors on the case, and my father had me questioning Éponine when Montparnasse burst in.” He looked down. “I tried to take the bullet for her, but I was a split second too slow.”

Azelma’s eyes widened, and she looked down at his suit, still covered in blood. “Why?” she asked.

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “Ever since she came into the office and told me the truth, I’ve been angry. At everyone and everything, including her – especially her.” He sighed heavily. “But today…I had to dash over to the other side of the courtroom and protect her.”

“You didn’t just do that,” Azelma said quietly. “You saved her life.”

He smiled a little. “I suppose I did.”

Azelma moved to sit closer to the sleeping Éponine and took her hand gently. “You remember the games we used to play around the inn when we were kids, ‘Ponine?” she murmured softly. “We would take turns being the hero, running around to faraway places, always saving the world…and when Gav was born, we always made him the damsel in distress,” she laughed. Enjolras smiled to himself, getting the feeling that she was talking more to Éponine than him. But he was alright with it – he could hear about another side of her that he’d never gotten the chance to know before.

So he sat back and relaxed, listening to Azelma talking to her sister about their life as children – their games around the inn, learning to pickpocket, their first escapades with Patron-Minette, the way they had dreamed of a better life after their father got arrested the first time, and tried to shield Gav from their father and his gang. Occasionally he laughed with Azelma’s stories; occasionally he had to hold in a heartbroken sigh. The young woman’s stories soon lulled him, and before he knew it, he was sound asleep, dreaming of faraway places and lost childhood dreams.


	10. Contemplating Her

Éponine awoke the next morning still in the hospital. She had to repress a momentary panic attack before she remembered everything leading up to how she got there – Enjolras questioning her at her father’s trial, Montparnasse shooting up the courtroom with Brujon and Babet…

Enjolras saving her…

That was when she noticed that he was sound asleep in the chair next to her bed, in the same bloody suit that he had worn to court yesterday. _He must have stayed here all night…_

The man was more of an enigma than she had originally thought, she decided. The last time she’d seen him before the trial – was it really just two days ago? – he’d been yelling and screaming at her because she hadn’t told him she was a thief’s daughter and a prostitute. The next day – just yesterday? – he tried to take a bullet for her when her life was in danger. Éponine couldn’t keep in a sigh of frustration. _Talk about mixed signals._

He stirred a little, and she sat up in the bed, trying to smile at him. “You stayed all night?” she asked, honestly a little surprised.

Enjolras slowly opened his eyes, adjusting his position in the chair and looking around the room. “I suppose I did,” he mumbled, his voice still low and heavy with what lingered of sleep. As hard as she tried, Éponine couldn’t keep her heart from skipping a beat at the sound. “Is Azelma still here?” he asked, looking around.

Her eyes widened when he mentioned her sister’s name. “Azelma came here?” she whispered.

“I suppose you were already asleep,” he reasoned, not noticing the look of mortal fear on her face. “Yes, she came here last night. She was worried about you.”

Éponine started shaking her head, fear and worry all over her face as she ran her hands through her hair in evident frustration. “No…no, ‘Zelma…bad plan!” she hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras frowned.

“If anyone knows she came to see me, Papa will think she’s ‘changing sides,” she explained. “He thinks of me as a traitor now, because I testified against him in court. I almost told them everything, and I only stopped because Montparnasse…interrupted us,” she said crisply. “Papa will think that if she talked to us, she’ll want to leave him, and that’s less income coming in for him by the day. Which means less alcohol, more abuse for my brothers. And her, if she manages to get out of there and stay out. He might even kill her, if he gets the chance, before she could go out and blab on him the way I did.”

Enjolras paled, settling a little further into the chair. “So she could be in danger right now, and not even know it.”

“Exactly,” Éponine said grimly. “I have to get to her.”

“No,” Enjolras said firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and making her lie back down in the bed. “You were shot yesterday, Éponine; you need to take your time to fully recover. You’ll be no good to your sister if you aggravate or infect that wound and have to stay longer.”

“I’m no more help to her cooped up in here!”

Enjolras paused. “I’ll go.”

Éponine paused too, looking at him. “W-what?”

“I’ll go,” he repeated. “I’ll round up my group of close friends from law school and we’ll go looking for her. We’ll bring her back safe and sound, I promise.”

Éponine was shocked. She couldn’t believe that after what she told him, with all he knew about her family, about her he was still willing to help someone he barely knew, willing to help _her_. She could hardly keep the tears down that wanted so badly to well up in her eyes. “You…you’d do that?” she whispered.

“Of course I would, Éponine,” he whispered back, taking her hand between his. “I care about Azelma’s safety, too. If she’s in trouble, I want to help get her out.”

She almost burst into tears, and couldn’t stop herself from pulling him into an enormous, bone-crushing hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice shaking. “So much…”

Enjolras was shocked, to say the least, but wrapped his arms around her tiny frame and hugged her back. “Anything for a friend, Éponine,” he murmured. He stroked her hair back from her cheek and, a bit to his own surprise, kissed her temple before pulling back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my dear, I have a few phone calls to make,” he grinned.

 

Several hours later, thanks to those phone calls and the enticement of liquor, Richard Enjolras, Jr. had finally managed to gather his closest group of law school friends – the ones who called themselves the _Amis_ – at his apartment. There was barely enough space for all of them – John Combeferre, Jack Courfeyrac, Alan Grantaire, James Prouvaire, Stephen Joly, and of course Marius Pontmercy, the young man from France who had joined their little group just recently. Enjolras liked him, even though it seemed his attention had a tendency to wander from important things, like law, to the more idle pleasures.

Enjolras picked up the decorative gavel his father had given him on completion of law school and hit it against the wall three times. Gradually, the chatter faded and the men all turned to face him as he put the gavel back in its spot over the mantle.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are not here on the usual orders of business. Tonight’s meeting requires a bit of explanation on my part as to why we are all here.”

“Does it have to do with the shooting at the courthouse yesterday?” Joly asked curiously.

Enjolras nodded. “Indirectly, yes.”

“Well, get to it, man!” Grantaire shouted from the corner. Even throughout Prohibition, the man somehow almost constantly managed to stay intoxicated. Enjolras could hardly conceal the disdain from his face when he thought about the man. He grit his teeth for a moment before he finally managed to speak.

“A few weeks ago, Mac hired a new bartender at the Whitehorse. Her name is Éponine Thénardier. As some of you know, I got to be very close to her,” he said, his gaze darting to Combeferre as he spoke. His best friend gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, and he continued. “However, what she hadn’t told me was that she was the daughter of the thief my father was prosecuting.” On a whim, he decided to leave out the fact that she was a prostitute. “I got…unreasonably angry…and I didn’t see her again until the trial yesterday. Her father’s chums were the ones who shot up the courtroom.” He paused. “I almost took a bullet meant for her.”

“Almost?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I was barely too slow,” Enjolras explained. “It hit her in the shoulder, and I took her to the hospital. Her sister showed up last night to thank me for saving her, which is the reason we’re all here.” The rest of the men frowned at him in confusion for a moment before he continued. “Since Azelma came to the hospital last night, Éponine told me she may or may not be in danger right now. If Thénardier gets wind of the fact that she talked to me, he’ll think she’s ‘changing sides’ and will want to get out of helping him and his gang with their theft. If she doesn’t manage to stay away from him, Éponine is afraid that their father may kill her. I need all of you to help me find her, and keep her safe, for her sake and Éponine’s.”

“Enjolras, are you sure this is a good idea?” Combeferre asked unsurely. “I know you want to help her because she’s Éponine’s sister, but what if we all end up in too deep?”

The man frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what if Thénardier then comes after us to keep us quiet? We could all end up deeper in this than we plan,” he said. “I just think we should think this through and take the time develop a good, solid plan. Maybe Éponine could help us.”

“She’s been shot, you idiot,” Grantaire said from the corner. “How do you think she’ll be able to help us?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, ‘Ferre has a point. She’s Thénardier’s daughter. She would know a lot, and I know that she knows her sister well. Azelma mentioned to me that they were very close as children. If she’s willing to help us, she could be a huge asset. However, we don’t have much time to waste; we don’t know how much Thénardier already knows. As uneducated as he is, he can certainly be clever when it comes to evading the law and getting what he wants.”

There was a pause, before the _Amis_ started murmuring amongst themselves. Enjolras held his breath, hoping they’d help him. He’d made a promise to Éponine, so he’d do it anyway, but with his friends, he _knew_ he could save Azelma.

“Alright, we’ll help you,” Combeferre said. “What’s the plan?”

Enjolras grinned. “Great. This is what we’ll do…”

 

Éponine lay in her hospital bed for most of the day, drumming her fingers on the sheets and trying to figure out what Enjolras’ last words to her earlier. _“Anything for a friend, Éponine,”_ he’d said. What did he mean by that? Did he just think of her as a friend now? Or was he just trying to make her feel better? Did he feel something that he was pushing down while her father’s case was open? Or did he want to be with her at all? Her hyperactive mind went through all of the possibilities, one by one, unable to erase the handsome lawyer from her memory.

She started to think about the night that the two of them had gone to see Firebird, and the haunting melody of the lullaby echoed in her mind. Éponine closed her eyes and remembered every detail – the Firebird dancing on stage, the mournful strains of the music, even the sound of Enjolras’ quiet breathing in her ear. She wanted all of that again, she realized – to share something that special and unique with him, to hold his hand on accident, to make him smile the way he had all night. With the passage of time, Éponine had forgotten the smaller details of their kisses, but when she thought about it hard enough, she could still feel Enjolras’ lips on hers, even though the memory of his taste had faded. She closed her eyes, hoping he would somehow magically reappear.

Then she heard her name at the door.

“Éponine?” Enjolras said softly as he entered the hospital room, flanked by Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly and Grantaire. She sat up in bed, smiling at the five men as they walked in. Enjolras was glad to see her looking happier. “Are you feeling better today?” he asked kindly.

She nodded a little. “Much, yes. The doctors say I should be out by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”

“Fantastic,” he said, only letting his relief partially show.

She pulled her knees up to her chest under the sheets, before looking back to the select group of _Amis_ that he’d brought with him. “I’ve already met Mr. Combeferre,” she said, nodding to him, “but would you care to introduce me to the rest of your friends?”

“Yeah, Enjolras,” one of them – a cheerful-looking young man with a messy mop of dark curls – laughed, nudging him. “Care to introduce us?”

He stiffened a little, looking slightly irritated at his friend. “Of course,” he said through slightly clenched teeth, pointing first to the man who had just spoken. “This is Jack Courfeyrac; he’s the only one of us that decided he wanted to keep going to school. He’s working towards his J.D. now, hoping to be on the Supreme Court.”

“I look forward to getting to know you better, Ms. Éponine,” he smiled, kissing her hand. She smiled at him, but couldn’t stop herself from blushing deep red. Enjolras made a mental note to have a word with Courf later, but for the moment, he decided to let it lie.

“This is Mr. Stephen Joly, who’s starting his practice in family law.”

“Very nice to meet you, Ms. Thénardier,” he said quietly, a small smile crossing his face as she gently shook her hand. Éponine smiled back at him, gently returning the shake. She got the impression that he was rather shy, but he was clearly a kind man.

“And over here, we have Mr. Alan Grantaire – ”

“A proud law school dropout after two months, fine wine enthusiast, and self-made philosopher and nihilist,” the man loudly finished Enjolras’ sentence as he approached Éponine’s side, staggering only slightly and waving an empty bottle of wine in his tightly clenched right fist. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Éponine.” Again she blushed, and Enjolras made a note to also speak to Grantaire.

“These four are some of my closest friends, and they’ll be my primary aids in searching for your sister,” Enjolras said. “I’ve already spoken with the rest of our little group, and they’ve all agreed to help.”

Éponine was immediately paying more attention. “What’s your plan?”

The five men seated themselves on and around her bed – Joly and Grantaire on her left, Combeferre and Courfeyrac on her right, and Enjolras at the foot – as he began to speak. “Right now, we plan to divide into teams not unlike the one here and split up, searching different areas of town for Azelma, or any signs of her presence. We’ll also be looking within a mile radius; she can’t have gone far without lots of money for cabs.”

“Which I doubt she’ll have, unless she’s been picking lots more pockets than I thought in my absence,” Éponine said. She looked down and took a deep breath, trying to think; she could feel Enjolras and the _Amis_ watching her, waiting for her to speak again. “I want to go with you when you go out looking for her,” she finally said. “Can you postpone the search a day or two, until I’m discharged? If she’s left town, she’s likely to have left signs that I’ll recognize, to let me know she’s safe.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said with a nod.

“Let’s wait a minute here,” Grantaire said, gesticulating with the bottle he was still holding. “How do we know the girl’s in any danger at all? She could be just fine.”

Éponine shook her head. “Unlikely. ’Zelma’s never been the best at staying out of trouble, of any kind. That was why I tried to talk to her about staying away from Montparnasse, but she – ” The room fell silent as Éponine realized what she’d said. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Combeferre asked worriedly. “What is it?”

Enjolras’ eyes had grown wide with shock; he needed no further explanation after she had mentioned Montparnasse. Éponine looked at him, her eyes also wide, but with terror. “He’s going to go after her.”

“The shooter from the courthouse? You know him?” Courfeyrac asked, half-shocked and half-awed.

“All my life,” Éponine said, nodding. “We were friends as children, before he decided to join my father’s gang. He shot up the courthouse yesterday to get Papa out of court, and hit me in the shoulder when he saw I had just been on the stand.”

“He was involved with your sister?” Enjolras said sharply.

She nodded. “I don’t know for how long. But we have to get to her, now,” she said.

“I’ll get your discharge papers from the doctor,” Joly volunteered, practically jumping out of his chair.

“Thank you, Joly,” Enjolras nodded before turning back to Éponine. “Come on, let’s get you walking.”

 

Montparnasse rested his feet on the pathetic excuse for a coffee table in front of him, putting a new cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. He was trying not to fume over the fact that he barely missed shooting that little bitch Éponine in the heart at the courthouse yesterday…he chuckled to himself as he wondered what her pretty lawyer boyfriend would have done about it if he’d managed his goal.

They had been friends when they were young, he and Éponine…no, more than that. The term “childhood sweethearts” made ‘Parnasse want to vomit, but there really wasn’t a better way to describe what his relationship to her had been before he joined Patron-Minette. What could have been different, he wondered…

“Oy, ‘Parnasse!” Thénardier’s rough voice jerked him out of his reverie. He took a long drag of his cigarette, not turning to face the man.

“Not so loud, Auguste. You don’t want to get caught again,” Montparnasse said coolly as he held his cigarette between his fingers. He knew he’d be in trouble for using his boss’s highly despised Christian name, but he didn’t care enough to spit out his last name. “What is it?”

Thénardier’s eyes flashed for a moment, but he ignored ‘Parnasse’s use of his given name. “Where’s ‘Zelma?” he growled instead.

Now Montparnasse turned around in surprise. “Azelma’s gone?”

“Well, she ain’t here,” Thénardier snapped; he was much touchier on the subject of his younger daughter than usual. “When did ya last see her?”

The young thief hesitated, biting his lip. He couldn’t truthfully tell Thénardier the last time he’d seen his daughter, because it had been under…not ideal circumstances. “I don’t recall right now.”

His boss glared at him for a moment longer before going back the other way, and Montparnasse was able to relax a little. He still wasn’t sure what to think of his actions the night before – Azelma had gotten in late from wherever she’d been; she’d claimed to be out with an old friend, but he hadn’t believed her. She’d been incredibly flirty when she got back, and once her father was gone, he’d gotten a little…frisky. They’d been kissing, and she’d pulled back when he reached down to pull up her skirts, asking him to stop and some nonsense like that. But by God, she’d gotten him excited and he wanted what he wanted.

He probably slapped her a little harder than he should have, come to think of it…and pinning her to the floor to force her legs apart may have been just a bit excessive…

 _Nah,_ he decided with a shrug, lighting another cigarette. _She was asking for it._

By the time Enjolras and the _Amis_ accompanying him managed to get Éponine out of the hospital, it was nearly 7:00 in the evening, and they had no idea where to start looking for Azelma. Éponine wanted to go straight to the Patron-Minette base and give Montparnasse a piece of her mind – and perhaps her fist – but Enjolras somehow managed to talk her out of it. He wasn’t quite sure how.

“If he’s not above using violent force, we need to avoid him until your wound is more healed,” he reasoned with her. “You’d just end up right back in the hospital, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Azelma.”

Éponine sighed in irritation. “Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “What do you propose we do?”

“Where do you think your sister would have gone after seeing you at the hospital?” Courfeyrac asked, any hint of his joking demeanor from earlier now gone.

Éponine tried to rack her brain. “If she didn’t go back to the Patron-Minette base…” she bit her lip. “I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t we go back there and make sure she’s not there before we do any more searching?” Combeferre suggested.

“We’re not going back there, Combeferre,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth. “He shot her. I’m not taking any more risks than are absolutely necessary.”

“Enjolras, there’s no need to search any more than is necessary,” ‘Ferre said calmly. “The sooner we can find Azelma, the better, and if we eliminate one location, that speeds the process along.”

They all looked to Enjolras for the final answer as he mulled over the options before them. He didn’t want to deal with Montparnasse again if it was at all possible to avoid him, but Combeferre, as he always did, had raised a good point. “Alright, let’s go,” he said almost grudgingly. “Lead the way, Éponine.”


	11. Defending Her

They made it to the base in just a few minutes. Éponine signaled for the men to be quiet as they approached the back entrance. “I’ll go in there and try to reason with Montparnasse,” she said quietly. “If anything starts to go wrong, I’ll scream. All clear?” The five men nodded in unison. “Alright, here I go. Wish me luck,” she said, her weak attempt at a chuckle belying her true nerves.

Enjolras ground his teeth as he watched her go in, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. He hated this idea, especially since her wound hadn’t even fully healed. He knew she was in pain; she was probably trying to be tough while they searched for Azelma. In any case, if Montparnasse tried anything, she could have to go back to the hospital, and Enjolras would then have to kill him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her back to him.

_Why are you thinking like that, Richard? You can’t always be so protective of her. She’s not yours; she was never yours to lose. You were supposed to let her go, weren’t you?_

_Apparently I can’t…_

Éponine went under the flap that led to the back of the Patron-Minette base. She realized as it whooshed closed behind her that she felt incredibly unguarded, almost naked, without Enjolras and the _Amis_ at her back. The pain in her wound was back, but tried to ignore it as she stood up to her full height inside the little tent.

“Montparnasse, we need to talk.”

“Is tha’ you, ‘Ponine?” he slurred loudly.

She grit her teeth and sighed heavily. _Drunk before sundown, of course._ “Yes, ‘Parnasse; it’s me,” she said, trying to sound cheerful and failing miserably.

He laughed far too happily for her comfort. “Come over here, ‘Ponine! Come say hello to your ‘Parnasse!”

A lantern was lit on the other side of the tent, and she edged towards it. Her stomach sank as she got closer and saw that there were three empty wine bottles scattered around him. He turned to look at her, still smiling to broadly for her to be anything approaching comfortable. She froze, not sure what to do. Did she scream now? Did she wait until he posed a threat?

“Come on, baby, don’t be afraid,” he slurred again, pulling her down by the waist. “Come on and sit with me.”

“’Parnasse, listen – ”

He cut her off with a sloppy, drunken kiss. “Shh, no time for that, dollface,” he grinned. “We have more important things to do.”

“Montparnasse, stop it!” she said angrily, pushing him away.

He slid a hand under her skirts and Éponine felt nauseated. “Calm down, baby; it’s just me,” he purred, slowly leaning her onto her back. Wildly, Éponine pushed hard on his shoulders as he tried to lean over her, slamming him into the wall as she scrambled to get out from under him. He managed to slap her once – a loud, hard slap – as she tried to get away, and she cried out in pain.

That was enough impetus for the _Amis_ to race through the back flap and towards her. Two familiar hands caught her by the shoulders and pushed her back – Enjolras. She watched in fear as Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Joly restrained Montparnasse, and as Enjolras drew himself up to his full height. A rage that she hadn’t seen before shadowed his handsome face. He was… _terrifying_. She had never seen such deep, righteous fury in any face before. “Enjolras – ” she tried to stammer out.

“Stay back, Éponine,” he said firmly, but not angrily as he watched his four friends press the thief into the wall behind them. “I need to have a word with this bastard.”

“Be careful,” she murmured in his ear. “He’s capable of some terrible things.” A small chill went down his spine, the way it always did when her breath went across his skin, and he nodded once to her, before approaching Montparnasse.

Enjolras had to work to contain his desire to kill the man in front of him. No, not a man – he was less than a man. He had taken advantage of both Éponine and her sister, and had dared to slap his beautiful Éponine in the face. The fact that he had used violence and his “manhood” as tools to make her live in fear was what set Enjolras’ blood ablaze. _That_ was what made Montparnasse less than a man.

“Ah, the pretty boy prosecutor returns,” Montparnasse drawled.

Enjolras couldn’t contain himself anymore, and he lashed out with a right hook that took all of his might. The thief’s head bounced hard off the wall behind him when Enjolras’ fist connected with the side of his face. “Where’s Azelma, you scumbag?” Enjolras growled. “If you’ve hurt her…”

Montparnasse chuckled as he spat blood. “Got two girlfriends now, do you pretty boy? And sisters, besides! Tell me, how do they compare?”

Enjolras was about to punch him again as Éponine caught his arm. “Don’t. It just encourages him,” she hissed. “The more you punch, the more he knows he’s got you riled up. It’s a mind game.” With several deep breaths, he lowered his arm, and she stepped back.

“It’s not about me,” Enjolras said through clenched teeth. “Éponine is worried about her sister. Now tell us, where is she?”

Montparnasse clucked his tongue. “Sweet little Éponine, always so worried about everyone else,” he chuckled dryly. “Has she told you her little secret yet, pretty boy?”

“Dammit man, where’s the girl?” Grantaire shouted.

“She’s not here!”

Éponine’s stomach dropped. “No…” she whispered. “No!”

“Éponine – ” Enjolras tried to stop her as she ran forward, grabbing Montparnasse by the shoulders.

“Where is she, ‘Parnasse?!” Éponine cried desperately, shaking him. “Where’s my sister?! You have to tell me now!!”

He raised an eyebrow at her hysterics. “Why are you suddenly so desperate to find her?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Enjolras snapped over Éponine’s shoulder; she tried not to flinch at his tone of voice. “Just tell us where she is, or by God, I’ll have your head.”

The thief laughed brazenly at the lawyer. “Are you so determined to save every little wretch you may meet?” he asked. “One minute you’re working with your father, the opposite of a champion of the poor, and now you’ve become one. Tell me, what has to happen for such a transformation to take place?”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Richard Heiland Enjolras, Jr. He picked the man up by the front of his shirt and picked him up off the ground. “Listen to me, and listen well,” he snarled, holding Montparnasse very close to his face; his feet were no longer touching the ground. “I will not be lectured by one who has turned his back on others. My path is clear; I _will_ protect Éponine and Azelma, no matter the cost to myself. I will save them from scum like you, and ensure that you can never touch them again. You are less than a man.”

“Oh, we all know ‘Parnasse ain’t a man,” another voice sounded from the darkness. “Question is, what does tha’ make me?”

Éponine paled and gripped Enjolras’ shoulder as he dropped Montparnasse to the ground. “Papa…?” she whispered in mortal fear, her voice barely audible. Without thinking, Enjolras slipped an arm around her waist to pull her tightly against him; she pressed against him, shaking like a leaf. As long as he had a say in the goings on, Thénardier wasn’t going to touch his daughter.

“Hello, ‘Ponine,” the voice said as he stepped into the light. Enjolras and the _Amis_ tried not to cringe at his appearance. The light threw grotesque shadows on his face, making him look skeletal. His teeth were the same shade of yellow as the light, and his eyes were sunken into his face. “What’s yer lil’ boyfriend doin’ ‘ere? Ain’t ‘e too good ta be seen ‘ere?”

“We’re looking for Azelma,” Combeferre said, trying to divert attention from Enjolras. “Éponine was worried about her.”

“And who th’ ‘ell ‘re you?” Thénardier snapped.

“A friend,” he shot back. “We’re all friends here.”

The criminal raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is tha’ how ye want it ta be?” he asked, his tone getting dangerous. “All o’ us bein’ friends?”

Éponine sensed the shift in his mood and tugged on Enjolras’ sleeve. “We should split,” she hissed.

They heard the quiet sound of a knife hissing out of its sheath. As Enjolras turned his head, he saw Montparnasse getting up. He jumped out of the way just in time, also missing a punch from Thénardier. Combeferre managed to grab the knife from Montparnasse and punch him in the chest as Enjolras hit Thénardier in the stomach. The _Amis_ and Éponine quickly ran away before the two criminals could recover.

“That was close,” Combeferre said as he regained his breath.

“Too close,” Enjolras growled, straightening his suit. Éponine could tell he was still unhappy that they had gone there at all.

“But at least now we know the girl’s not here,” Grantaire said.

“Azelma!” Éponine cut in sharply. There was a quiet pause as they all looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to recover. “Her name is Azelma,” Éponine said, a little more calmly.

“And we will find her for you, Éponine,” Courfeyrac said. “We promise, all of us do.”

She smiled a little, for the first time in days. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

Enjolras stepped over to her and gently clasped her hand in his. “We’re here for you, Éponine. All of us,” he said firmly. “But I think that coming here was a mistake. For tonight, we need to make a plan for how we plan to search the city.”

“Let’s go back to my apartment, and we can discuss our options there,” Éponine offered.

Enjolras nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

 

Fantine sat in her little shack in the slums of New York City, pulling her thin, wearing shawl a little tighter around her frame as a cold wind blew through. She hadn’t heard from Richard Enjolras, Jr. in several days, and hoped it was because he was making further developments on the case she had asked him to look into.

 _Don’t be ridiculous, Fantine,_ she told herself. _He has more important things to worry about._

A knock at the pitiful excuse for a door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she said softly. The door opened, and the last man she expected to see walked in.

“Hello, Fantine,” he said. “How long has it been?”

“28 years, to be precise,” she said coldly. “What do you want with me, Richard?”

“I need to know where my son is. Have you seen him?”

Her breath caught for a moment; she prayed to God that Richard the younger hadn’t done anything to hint that he was working for her. “I don’t believe I’ve met your son,” she answered as calmly as she could, even though her heart was racing. “You never told me you had a family all those years ago,” she added, failing to keep some bitterness out of her tone.

He clearly bristled, but ignored her. “I need to see Felix. Is he here?”

Fantine shook her head. “He went out a few hours ago, in the direction of one of the speakeasies.”

Richard groaned. “Fantine, you know I need my next shipment soon.”

“That’s up to him, not me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my daughter and I have to eat dinner. Cosette!” she called into the other small room of the hovel, exactly the way Richard Enjolras, Sr. remembered it. He promptly left before he could see the girl, coming face to face with the man he wanted to see.

“Ah, Felix! I was just looking for you,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Your wife said you were out.”

“I was,” Felix said in his thick Boston accent as he lit a fresh cigarette. “I’ll have your next shipment in a couple of days. The fuzz are cracking down, so it’s gonna take a little longer.”

Richard wanted to punch something. “Felix, I can’t wait much longer!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been going dry for almost a week, and things are about to get ugly!”

“Calm down, Richard,” Felix said. “You have my word, you’ll be my first delivery as soon as it gets to me. Alright?”

He was unsatisfied, but this was the best deal he could get. “Done.”

 

The _Amis_ and Éponine stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, planning and talking and strategizing, trying to figure out a quick way to figure out Azelma’s location as the liquor supply slowly dwindled. Éponine had several ideas, but varying feelings on each. Enjolras, thankfully, kept argument to a minimum and always encouraged Éponine to speak her mind.

At about 3:00 in the morning, Enjolras came back from the restroom to the other four men sleeping on the living room floor, and Éponine chuckling to herself as she looked at them. She was still smiling when their eyes met, and he navigated the maze of sprawled limbs to go stand by her. “They got tired?” he murmured.

She nodded. “I told them they didn’t have to drive if they didn’t want to. I guess they decided to take me up on it,” she smiled.

Enjolras smiled back. “Grantaire can never stay awake for long if he’s had enough alcohol,” he chuckled. “How much whiskey did he have?”

“Quite a bit,” she said. “I was wondering how much it would take.” The two of them stood there in silence for a brief moment, before she spoke again. “Thank you…for everything today,” she said softly. “I was afraid of Montparnasse for the first time in a long time when I went in there…”

“You don’t need to be afraid if I’m with you, Éponine,” he said gently. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.” To his surprise, she hugged him in gratitude, tighter than she ever had. He was a little hesitant, but soon embraced her also.

His thoughts were torn as he held her again. It all felt so right – her head against his chest, his arms around the small of her back, the feeling of her breathing against him…did he say something now? What did he say if he did? What was he supposed to do? Did he even still love her? All these questions and more raced through his mind with no answers in sight.

Thankfully, though, she spoke first as she pulled away. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want,” she said gently, and not at all awkwardly. “There’s a spare room in the back, or you can have my bed. I won’t mind sleeping on the floor just for one night.”

He shook his head. “If one of us gets a bed, it’s you,” he insisted. “And don’t argue this with me, because you won’t win.”

Éponine chuckled. “Alright. Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

 

In just a few minutes, Enjolras had gotten comfortable for the night, but he couldn’t seem to go to sleep. He sat up in the bed again, running his hands over his face. What was it about sleeping at her apartment that was so… _weird?_ There was nothing going on; she was just being hospitable. Perhaps he would say something tomorrow after the boys left…

He lay back down and shifted onto his side with a sigh, closing his eyes. Slowly, he finally fell asleep.

He did not dream.


	12. Loving Her, Part Two

Éponine woke up more slowly than usual the next morning. As she slowly regained consciousness, she sat up in her bed, looking for the clock that stood next to it. 9:30 a.m. Inexplicably, something felt different about this morning…what was it? She couldn’t seem to remember.

Then it came back to her – the man in the room across the hall. Which reminded her, there were four more presumably still sprawled out on her living room floor. With a quiet groan, she forced herself to get out of bed and quietly open her door. The door across the hall was closed; she presumed that Enjolras was still asleep. Her bare feet padded softly down the carpet of the short hallway to the front of her apartment, where there were still four sleeping men, but slightly rearranged into a more organized pattern. She stepped very carefully over Joly’s head and Courfeyrac’s torso into the kitchen and started brewing coffee. Gradually, all four men roused as the smell drifted to them.

“Mmmh…is that what I think it is?” Grantaire mumbled as he staggered to her kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Éponine almost wondered how bad his hangover would be from all the whiskey he’d drunk during their planning session last night.

She grinned as the other three followed him in a similar fashion. “Indeed it is,” she laughed. “Who wants coffee?”

“Did someone say something about coffee?” a sleepy, familiar voice sounded at the top of the hall. Enjolras had made it to the front of the apartment, still wearing the same clothes as the day before, but slightly more wrinkled. He was rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes as he walked over to the kitchen, and Éponine couldn’t help but smile at him. The look on his tired face was so innocent, almost like that of a child. She found herself wanting to hold him, care for him… _love_ him.

“Yes, I did,” she laughed. “Oh, and does anyone want eggs? I’m more than happy to make breakfast.”

“You cook? I love you!” Four voices sounded in perfect unison.

Éponine and Enjolras both started to laugh. “Deal me in too, Éponine,” Enjolras added quietly.

For about an hour, the six of them sat around Éponine’s tiny dining room table – Grantaire ended up sitting on Courfeyrac’s lap – eating breakfast, drinking coffee and laughing. She discovered that Enjolras and Combeferre loved cracking jokes at each other, and that even though he was the quietest one there, Joly could be incredibly dry when he wanted to be; Courfeyrac and Grantaire got several zingers for their seating arrangement.

One by one, the _Amis_ gradually left, until Éponine and Enjolras were alone in the kitchen. They were both quiet for a moment, neither one really knowing what to say, especially Éponine. After all, it was the first time they’d been alone together since the incident in his father’s office. She looked down into her coffee for a moment, contemplating something to say. Finally, she managed to speak up.

“I hope that bed was okay last night,” she said a little awkwardly, almost shyly.

Thankfully, he nodded. “It was great. I actually slept really well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

 _Back to awkward silence it is,_ Enjolras thought as he, too, contemplated what to say next. He drummed his fingers on the sides of the coffee mug for a moment, looking down.

_Weren’t you going to say something to her once the rest of the boys left, Richard? This is it. It’s now or never._

“Listen, Éponine…” he began hesitantly, not even sure of what he wanted to say. He sighed softly, faltering a little. _I’m a lawyer. I’ll improvise. What the hell._

“I’m so sorry,” she burst out before he could say anything else, clearly on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry that I lied to you by omission for so long, I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to help me, I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough last night, I’m sorry for making myself a burden to you…God save me, I’m so sorry for everything…”

Gradually, her tears started to fall, as much as she tried to hold them in. Enjolras could only pull her into his chest and hold her, stroking her hair and gently shushing her as she cried, murmuring sweet nonsense in an attempt to calm her down. As her cries finally started to hush, he pulled back from her, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Éponine, listen to me,” he said gently, but with an earnest undertone that he could hardly contain. “You were completely within your rights to not tell me something I know you could never be proud of. I volunteered to help you because I wanted to do what I could for Azelma. You are one of the bravest people I have ever known; you faced Montparnasse last night at great risk to yourself, and I hardly saw you flinch. And more than anything, you have _never_ been a burden to me, Éponine. You couldn’t be a burden if you tried.” Cradling her face in his hands, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered earnestly, “You’re too perfect for that.”

Then he kissed her.

It was not the most perfect kiss he could have imagined, but he wouldn’t have wanted it without the tiny flaws that made it theirs. Her chapped lips tasted of her tears; she was still crying even as she kissed him back with everything she had. Enjolras almost felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he pressed his mouth against hers, so close to him that neither of them could breathe. He didn’t want to breathe; it was too hard when he was with her, as her tears made the crossover from her cheeks to his. As they kissed, he only wanted more, opening his mouth to hers and letting their tongues run together. His hands moved all the way down to the small of her back, pressing her even closer to him. He’d missed everything about this, and it felt good to have it back.

When they finally pulled apart to gasp for air, he immediately pulled her close again, squeezing her tightly. “Oh, Éponine…” he whispered, stroking her hair. “My beautiful Éponine…you know I still love you.”

She looked up at him, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes, still catching her breath from the kiss. “Y-you do?” she asked, her voice still broken from her sobs.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I do, Éponine,” he murmured gently into her hair. “Of course I do. I never truly stopped.” He paused, pulling back from her as he continued. “I was angry with you for a long time…so angry. But I always ached for that missing piece in my life that you filled. More than anything…I missed you. I missed you when I didn’t realize it, when I was angry, when I didn’t want to miss you…I thought about you all the time. I wanted…exactly what just happened.”

Éponine was smiling now, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. “I missed you too, Enjolras…all the time.” She paused to gather her own thoughts. “After that day at your father’s office…I knew I couldn’t go home. So Mac let me stay in the back room of the Whitehorse…and then the fuzz picked us both up the next morning. They thought Mac was also running a prostitution business in addition to the speakeasy.”

Enjolras clenched his teeth, but said nothing. This was all the confirmation he needed that she was the one his father wanted him to prosecute when he closed her father’s trial. _He must have turned them both in to catch her._

“Those few nights I spent in prison…I was so alone. All I’d wanted was to clear the air between us. I wanted you to know the whole truth about me; that’s why I decided to tell you. You had every right to know…because I love you too.”

Enjolras’ heart swelled when he heard her; he was at a complete loss for words. He hugged her again, even tighter than before; he didn’t know how else to express his feelings. “Listen…there’s something I need to tell you,” he said gently. “Something you deserve to know.”

They sat down on her couch, and Enjolras took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Before you came to see me at the office that day, another woman had come in…”

 

Richard Enjolras, Sr. was doing something he never did. He knew he’d wear a path in this expensive carpet if he kept pacing around his apartment for much longer, but he was too nervous to sit still. He’d expected his next order from Felix days ago, and he was quickly becoming a desperate man. He knew he needed to stop, and not just his pacing on his good carpet.

Ever since his Maëlys had died, he’d taken to the bottle to ease the pain of her passing. It was so painful to think about her – or even to remember her name – for so many years…practically every time he looked at his young son, he had to open another bottle – beer, wine, whiskey, whatever he could get his hands on. As soon as he put Richard to bed every night, he had to start drinking. If he tried to skip it for one night, he regretted it in the morning – more than when he had too much. The drink was a harsh, unforgiving mistress.

When Prohibition was enacted, he knew it would get harder to keep up his habit. For a while, he frequented Mac’s speakeasy behind the general store, often taking Richard with him, once he was old enough to drink. He’d keep himself in check when he drank with his son, before he went home and drank as much as he wanted.

That was before he met Felix Tholomyés, the bootlegger who had become his personal supplier for the last several months. He was one of the best in New York; ever since the law was enacted, he’d never been caught. No one knew how he managed to evade law enforcement so well, especially since he liked to cross state lines, but he always did. The sun was starting to go down, which meant Felix should be coming soon with his next shipment.

Richard was still convincing himself that he’d done the right thing, turning in Mac in order to catch his son’s little girlfriend. He and Mac had been friends for years, and drinking buddies for years before he opened up the speakeasy. Had he been wrong to turn in his friend…?

_Of course not, Richard. You caught the little bitch, didn’t you? Just like you wanted? There’s no good reason for your son to be around that. You did it to protect your son. Mac was just collateral damage, and all will be forgiven._

Finally, a knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts – and his pacing. He turned straight for the door, looking quickly at the distorted shape of Felix through the peephole, before opening it. “About damn time you got here,” he grumbled as he let the bootlegger in, locking the door. “I was about to wear a path in the carpet; I could hardly sit still.” His voice was haggard and angry; he needed liquor.

“Calm down, Richard,” Felix said irritably as he put out his cigarette. “I’ve got your shipment here, as promised.”

The attorney visibly relaxed. “Good. I’ve been getting impatient.”

“Aren’t you always around delivery time?” Felix muttered under his breath, unveiling the large brown paper sack he carried in his trenchcoat. Richard heard the bottles rattling against each other, and his heart picked up in anticipation of the drink. “You’re lucky this was a good haul for me,” Felix said as he set the bag down on the table. Three bottles of whiskey, two bottles of wine, and six beers sat between them.

Richard grabbed the first bottle of whiskey and effortlessly opened it, guzzling from it like a dying man given water. The neck was empty when he finally stopped and set the bottle down for air. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the alcohol relax him. “Your payment will be the usual, then?” he asked coolly, his tone noticeably less haggard than before. “I know some bootleggers have started kicking their prices up.”

“Of course,” Felix said with a nod. “You’re a paying, regular customer. I’m not going to raise your price.” The other man nodded, standing up and getting out his wallet. He fished out the usual number of bills and handed them to Felix, who pocketed them where the bag of liquor had been. “See you soon,” the bootlegger said as he left.

Richard locked his apartment door again, promptly going back to his kitchen table and picking up his favorite shot glass. The Thénardier trial was about to close, and then he would get his son to toss that grifter of his in jail, no matter what it took. He would be his son’s savior, and the girl would end up where she belonged – safe behind bars, with her scumbag of a father.

_Everything is falling into place perfectly._

The sun was gone and the stars were out when Enjolras’ story was finally complete. Éponine was shaking her head, thunderstruck. “I don’t understand…” she said slowly. “You have a half-sister from your father’s affair with Fantine Tholomyés?” she asked, incredibly confused.

Enjolras nodded slowly, his jaw clenched. “I think it must have contributed to my mother’s depression spiraling out of control for the first few years of my life,” he said tightly. “I was only four years old when she died, but I was old enough to know and understand how much she loved my father. She absolutely adored him. If she’d ever known about his affair, it would have broken her heart. Especially if she found out that he fathered another child.”

Éponine nodded. “That’s understandable. But how are you planning to prosecute him?”

Enjolras sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. You have to understand, Éponine, this is every lawyer’s worst nightmare. My father knows every trick in the book, and he taught me everything he could without sending me to law school as a child. I’ll be prosecuting a man who can predict my every move, and figure out exactly how to evade me. Not to mention he’ll have the help of a defense attorney.”

“Can’t you use the journal in court?” Éponine asked.

“Technically I can, but it may not be enough. Depending on which judge I draw, it might be considered too circumstantial. And since this case is almost as old as I am, it’s going to be extremely hard for me to get more traditional, concrete evidence to use in court. Even with Cosette’s resemblance to him, sealing a conviction will be the tricky part. He’s always been an upstanding citizen and a respected lawyer; no jury would want to contribute to his downfall without hard proof.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Show me the entry again.”

Enjolras picked up his father’s journal from where it sat on the coffee table in front of them, which he had now marked with small slips of paper where the key entries were. He opened it to the proper date and read the entry aloud again.

 

_18 September, 1903_

_I have just made possibly the worst mistake of my adult life thus far. I had too much to drink last night, and as a result, I must have gone to bed with Fantine Leblanc last night, because I woke up in her hovel this morning. She sleeps in the bed as I quickly write this; I must get home as soon as I can._

_Maëlys will be distraught that I never made it back last night, and I don’t know how I will have to explain myself to her. Oh God, what have I done to myself? To my marriage? To my two-year-old son? He’s just learning to talk now, and my wife has been stricken with some kind of sadness for the last two years since his birth. The doctors can’t figure out what it is. Every time I look at them now, I will only be filled with guilt for this wicked sin I have committed._

Enjolras put the journal back down and started to think again. Éponine was starting to understand more of the nuances of his facial expressions as she looked at him closely – his brow was low and slightly furrowed, his eyes were staring at something indistinct, his jaw tightened, his breathing evened, his hands steepled in front of his face. It was an expression of deep, hard thought, rather than anger.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“This is the most incriminating entry I can find in the entire journal, especially since I talked to Fantine and Cosette,” he said slowly. “She gave me all the details from her side of the night, right down to the exact date he slept with her. On this page, it’s clear that he’s guilt ridden for having an affair, even by accident. That opens up an alleyway for me to play on the psychology of the situation in court. If there was something he didn’t put down in the journal, then perhaps I could carefully needle a confession out of him. Either way, in the entry from the day my mother died, he makes a vow to not support Cosette. Here,” he said, turning the pages to the last paragraph of the entry. “This is the last sentence: _‘_ _I can only conclude that Fantine Leblanc seduced me, and I will not support her, even if the child is mine. I do not care anymore.’_ There’s no way that the jury could deny a resemblance between him and Cosette, which would seal the deal if no other snags come up. I just don’t know how to prepare for those snags when I have no idea what they might be.”

Éponine nodded. “That certainly sounds tricky. Have you talked to Combeferre about this at all? He might be able to help you.”

“I haven’t, actually,” he answered, pondering her suggestion. “I’ll give him a call and we can talk at my apartment later tonight. I could even pick you up and let you participate, if you like.”

She shook her head sadly. “I shouldn’t. I’ll be on trial once my father’s case is closed,” she said.

Enjolras sighed. “I forgot about that.” He stood up from her couch, pulling on his coat. “I’ll let you know everything that happens, though. I’m sure ‘Ferre will have some good things to contribute.”

“I’m sure he will,” she said.

He smiled again, pulling her close. The joy of having her back in his arms still hadn’t gone away, and he wondered if it ever would. “I love you, Éponine,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her lips again.

“I love you too, Enjolras,” she smiled back, hugging him again. They stood there for a moment longer, embracing next to the open window, before they quickly kissed again, she let him out of her apartment and locked the door behind him.

As he drove away from the apartment and she walked away from the window, neither of them saw the dandy who slipped into the shadows of the alley across the street and ran back towards his base.


	13. Rescuing Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm trash and I haven't updated in forever, even though this story's been finished since 2014...but I just graduated from college, so I have a little time on my hands! Enjoy this chapter, my loves!

Enjolras called Combeferre the next day around 7:30 a.m. He was eager to put together a solid case to take to court, and his overwhelmingly good mood from reconciling with Éponine hadn’t gone away. Everything seemed to be going well for him again, now that the strife between them was gone. The weight that had been lifted off his shoulders when he kissed her that morning was still gone, and it wasn’t showing any signs of coming back. Which was fine with Enjolras.

“Hello?” Combeferre answered.

“Combeferre, it’s Enjolras,” he said. “I know it’s early, but I need your help with something important, and…I have some news for you.”

“What kind of news?” his friend asked, his interest clearly piqued.

Enjolras couldn’t help but grin. “Very good news. Come over to my apartment and we’ll talk.”

Enjolras spent the next few minutes transcribing the most important entries from his father’s journal as he waited for Combeferre to arrive. He laid out several pieces of paper in a timeline, spanning the full four years his father kept the journal. Carefully, he placed his transcriptions in the appropriate places, being sure to make note of places where his father mentioned his mother’s worsening depression, or anything involving Fantine and her daughter. Finally, the sound of a knock on the door interrupted him.

“It’s open!” he called out without looking up from his work.

His sandy-haired best friend entered, locking the door behind him with an impressed look on his face. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

Enjolras chuckled. “I had to keep myself occupied somehow.”

‘Ferre laughed as well. “Fair enough. Now, what exactly is this news that you used to entice me here at such an early hour of the morning?”

The Leader stood up to fully face his friend, grinning from ear to ear. “I reconciled with Éponine yesterday morning, after the rest of you left. She loves me, and I love her. I finally forgave her, ‘Ferre. For everything. And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“You’re sure it’s for the best?” Combeferre asked a little hesitantly.

Enjolras’ face grew a little darker. “Why wouldn’t it be? We talked about it, and we were both significantly unhappier without each other. I’m not carrying around all this anger and bitterness anymore. I just feel…better.”

“Enjolras, you have to be careful not to be completely dizzy with the dame,” Combeferre reasoned as gently as he could. “Forgive me if I echo your father when I say this, but she did lie to you. And if she did it once, she’s likely to do it again.”

“Don’t,” Enjolras growled. “I won’t hear it.”

Combeferre sighed. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Enjolras.”

“I’m not turning my back on her this time, ‘Ferre,” he insisted. “And she’s not turning her back on me. We’re certain about this.”

His best friend decided not to push it any further. “Alright. Now, why did you want my help?”

“Éponine actually recommended that I talk to you,” he said. “You were there the day Fantine came into the office, now I’m trying to figure out how to present a solid case against my father in court.” He moved to the timeline. “This is what I have so far…”

 

Combeferre was honestly starting to wonder what had gotten into his best friend. In law school, Enjolras had always been the one they turned to when they needed someone detached, someone who could keep a level head. He didn’t know if it was just the nature of this case getting to him, or something else going on with him…

“Combeferre!” he heard his name down the street, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up, and a woman was waving at him.

Not just any woman, but Éponine.

She wasn’t exactly the last woman he wanted to see, but she was damn close. Nonetheless, he put on a smile and approached her. “Hello, Éponine,” he said a little tiredly. “I trust you’re well?”

“Quite, thank you,” she smiled. “Have you seen Enjolras today?”

“I was actually just coming from his apartment,” Combeferre said, pointing back towards it. “He’s really getting wrapped up in this case he’s taking on…” he leaned in towards her and murmured, “I take it he’s told you everything?”

She nodded. “I’m worried about him.”

Combeferre nodded, mostly to himself. “I am, too. His father has always been a great attorney…”

“And it looks like this case will really be taking its toll on him,” she added; he nodded in agreement. “I want to help him, but I don’t know how…” she said, trailing off a little.

He looked at her skeptically. “In matters of the law, I don’t think you can offer much help. Especially not with a case this complex.”

“But I can help him,” she said stubbornly.

Combeferre sighed. “Just be careful, Éponine. Remember…not everyone is your friend.” With nothing else to say, he walked away, leaving Éponine feeling very confused, and just a little lost.

 

She paced the tiny flat, wringing her hands and trying not to whimper with fear as she listened to the steadily-falling rain outside. She knew that Montparnasse had to find out where she’d gone eventually. The man had eyes and ears everywhere, somehow. Azelma was willing to bet money that it was the reason he kept committing crimes in order to go back to prison – more connections out in the world, more people to talk to him.

After she saw Éponine in the hospital, she knew that she had to get out of the city. Someone would tell her father where she’d been, like always, and then God only knew what would happen when she got home. With what little pocket change she had – and an unwitting donation from a passerby – she used a phone to call her mother’s sister on Manhattan Island. Azelma had been staying at her apartment since, too afraid to go back to New York City, and too afraid to contact her sister.

In the midst of her frantic pacing, she suddenly sat down on the sofa to think about Éponine, her beloved sister. Azelma wondered if she had recovered from that courtroom shooting, if she was still in the hospital…the thought of what might have befallen her genuinely scared Azelma, more than any threat she’d ever gotten from Montparnasse. Her sister had been her idol for as long as she could remember, and Azelma couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

Without realizing it, she had picked up the phone. She held it in her lap, almost mesmerized by it. She knew the number by heart; she knew she could call. It would just take a few turns of her finger…

Azelma sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. What was she thinking? She couldn’t just pick up the phone and call Éponine out of nowhere, after she had just disappeared…she felt so lost and confused to the point that she wanted to cry, but she refused. _Come on, ‘Zelma. Be strong. What would ‘Ponine do?_

Her mind made up, she dialed. Her heart was pounding as she heard the ringing on the other end of the line, wondering if this was really a good idea…would she even answer the phone? She sat rooted on the sofa, holding the receiver to her ear. It rang seven times before Azelma decided to hang up. Éponine always answered the phone by then. _Where else could she be?_

Azelma’s eyes fell on the phone book sitting in front of her. She pulled it onto her lap, leafing through the pages until she found the name she was looking for. She carefully turned the numbers, keeping the receiver to her ear, and waited for the phone to ring.

 

Enjolras was surprised to hear his phone ring only a few minutes after Combeferre left. He didn’t usually get calls in the middle of the day; at least, not unless it was Fantine. He walked casually over to the receiver and picked it up. “Hello? You’ve reached Richard Enjolras, Jr.”

“Mr. Enjolras, it’s Azelma.”

He nearly dropped the phone in shock. “Azelma! Are you alright? Your sister’s been worried sick.”

“I’m fine,” she said immediately. “I’m staying on the DL for a little while, hoping Montparnasse will lose my scent long enough that I can come back to New York City soon.”

“Where did you go after the hospital?”

“To my mother’s sister on Manhattan Island. She would have sued for custody of all of us after Mama died if she hadn’t been so afraid of Papa and Patron-Minette.”

It angered Enjolras to hear of the sway Thénardier had held over everyone he met, even before he had begun to hurt Éponine and her siblings, but he pushed it aside. “How much longer do you think you’ll need to stay out of town? You’re always welcome to come stay with me, or any of my friends from law school if you need to. They’d be happy to keep you for as long as you’d like to stay.”

Azelma paused. Was endangering Ép’s lawyer boyfriend like this really a good idea? One Thénardier woman in his life was surely enough, and she didn’t want to impose on his friends…

He interrupted her train of thought when he spoke again. “Azelma, are you truly safe where you are?”

She sighed, knowing she wasn’t. “No, I’m not.”

“Then let one of us keep you. It’s not an imposition or a danger to anyone, so long as you stay low.”

She nodded, before realizing that Enjolras couldn’t see her over the phone. “Alright,” she said.

“Very good. I’ll get in touch with them and with Éponine, and we’ll be on our way to get you as soon as the sun goes down tonight,” he said, grabbing a pencil and paper. “Where are you staying?”

“23 Grove Street. West Village, Manhattan.”

Enjolras scrawled down the address as she read it off. “Perfect. We’ll come pick you up as soon as we can. You’re going to be alright, Azelma. I promise.”

“Thank you, Mr. Enjolras.”

“Call me Richard, Azelma.”

She hung up with a _click,_ just as there was a knock on his door. “Come in!” he called loudly. A bit to his surprise, Éponine was the one to walk in, wearing a pretty blue dress and simple shoes. His heart fluttered a little, the way it always did when he saw her, and he went over to embrace her. “Hello, you,” he murmured in her ear.

“Mmh, hello,” she murmured back in his ear. Enjolras smiled to himself, placing a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. _Lover._ It was never a word he thought he would use to describe Éponine, but he was perfectly happy to do so. “How are you?”

He paused, before deciding to cut to the chase. “I just got off the phone with Azelma. I know where she is.”

Her eyes immediately grew wide in shock, and she gasped quietly. “Azelma called? How did she get your phone number?”

He shrugged. “Phone book, I suppose. She told me she’s with your mother’s sister on Manhattan Island.”

“Aunt Liliane,” she smiled. “She was always our favorite. Can we go down to Manhattan Island tonight to get her?”

“That was my plan,” Enjolras said. “We can bring Combeferre, Joly and Grantaire; along with you and me, that’ll fill up my car. She gave me the address, and it doesn’t seem like it should be a long drive.”

“Is she still on Grove Street?”

“That’s what Azelma said.”

Éponine nodded. “Then it won’t be a long drive at all,” she said. “When do we leave?”

“Be here at nightfall.”

She nodded again. “Great; I’ll be here.”

Unprompted, Enjolras walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. Every time he held her, he was surprised all over again at how small she really was. He let his cheek rest on the top of her head, trying not to think about everything else on his mind. “I love you, Éponine,” he murmured into her hair.

“I love you too,” she answered into his chest.

He tilted her chin up to kiss her sweetly. “Éponine…could you consider a proposal for me?”

She raised an eyebrow, pulling back from him a bit. “What kind of proposal are we talking?”

He chuckled quietly. “Would you be willing to stay with me until all of this blows over? What with Montparnasse being after you and your sister…I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in your apartment.”

Éponine paused. This was certainly a good option for her, but what about for him? “But…I’m technically supposed to be on trial,” she said slowly. “What about your reputation? As a man, as a lawyer – ”

Enjolras cut her off with another slow kiss. “You talk too much,” he smiled, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “So? Is that a yes or a no?”

She tried not to smile. “It’s a yes. Want me to bring a bag by here before we leave tonight?”

He grinned back. “That’ll work perfectly,” he answered, kissing her forehead. “Thank you, Éponine.”

“For what?” she asked, picking up her purse to leave.

He smiled. “For letting me protect you…and live up to my name.”

She tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“My middle name is Heiland, as you noticed from the journal,” he explained. “In Dutch, it means ‘Savior.’ So I suppose I’m thanking you for letting me save you.”

Éponine hugged him again. “Thank you for wanting to save me,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you.”

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon sifting through her most important possessions and throwing them haphazardly into a suitcase. After all, this was only going to be a temporary arrangement…right? Just until Montparnasse cooled down. There was no way she was going to be able to stay with him forever…unless…

Éponine sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to think about what the hell she was doing. Why had she so suddenly agreed to stay with Enjolras? Yes, she loved him, but if anyone found out about this, she could be doing serious damage to his reputation as a lawyer. Not to mention the fact that Montparnasse would probably still be able to track them down, and then he would be in harm’s way.

She sighed quietly, rubbing her temples. What was it about this man that made her consider even the insane to be a completely viable option? Éponine couldn’t help but laugh to herself at the way she’d fallen so quickly for him. He was the first man that had actually treated her well, like she was a human being. Her whole life, she had craved someone who would be good to her, but she never expected it to happen.

Until him.

She smiled again to herself. Yes, she was making the right decision. She knew it was right.

 

When the sun was halfway hidden by the horizon, there was a knock on Enjolras’ door. Startled out of his planning, he went to check through the peephole in the door. Grinning, he opened it to let Éponine in, who was carrying a small black bag that she tossed down on the couch. Enjolras grinned, hugging her tightly. “I’m glad you’re staying here,” he murmured in her ear.

She couldn’t help but smile against his chest. “Me too, darling.” They kissed once before she asked, “When are the rest of the boys coming?”

“They should be here soon,” he answered, checking his pocket watch. “If ‘Ferre can drag Grantaire out of his apartment, that is. Since the speakeasies started shutting down, he’s taken to using independent suppliers to get drunk.”

Éponine laughed. “Let’s hope he can.”

Not two minutes later, the two men in question had arrived; Grantaire was remarkably sober. “Caught this one just before he was going to open a bottle,” Combeferre laughed. “Joly called from his office and said he’d be here around 6:30.”

Enjolras consulted his pocketwatch. “Only a few more minutes. Let’s hope he’s early; I want to get to Manhattan Island as soon as we can. Éponine, how long should it take to get Azelma out of your aunt’s house?”

“I doubt she took very much with her, so unless my aunt’s in a chatty mood, it won’t take long,” Éponine said. “We learned at an early age to travel light, if we ever had to go anywhere.”

He nodded, going to answer the door at the sound a knock. “Good.” When Joly came through the door, he grinned. “Alright, let’s head out.”

The trip to Manhattan Island was fairly quick, if rather quiet. Enjolras was driving, Éponine rode shotgun and navigated, and Joly and Grantaire shared the backseat. No one said much, apart from Éponine giving directions to Enjolras, but there wasn’t much to be said, until he quietly pulled up in the driveway and turned off the car. “Alright. How do you want to handle this, Éponine?”

“I want just you and I to go in,” she said. “It’ll be quicker for us to get her out with fewer people.”

Enjolras nodded. “Then let’s go.”

The two of them quietly crept to the door, and Éponine gently knocked three times. “Azelma?” she murmured. “Azelma, it’s me Éponine. Enjolras is with me; we’re getting you out of here.”

A moment later, the door clicked open. “’Ponine!” her sister whispered, embracing her tightly. Éponine held her sister close, gently rubbing her back. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmured.

“I’ll take your bag, Azelma,” Enjolras offered. With a nod, the young woman handed him the small knapsack containing the sum total of what she’d managed to grab from her father’ house before running away.

“I left a note for Aunt Liliane, explaining that I was going back to the city to stay with friends,” Azelma said as they left the house. “She shouldn’t worry too much when I’m gone in the morning.”

Enjolras opened the back door of the car. “Gentlemen, keep this at your feet,” he murmured. “Azelma will be sitting between you.” They nodded, and Joly stepped out of the car to let her in. Éponine and Enjolras resumed their posts in the car, and Enjolras quickly pulled out of the driveway. “Alright, Azelma. Where would you like to stay?” he asked as he left the neighborhood.

“I can keep her,” Grantaire offered. “I have an extra bedroom in the back of my apartment, and enough food to keep us both full for as long as she’d like to stay.”

She smiled shyly. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr.…”

“Alan Grantaire,” he smiled, offering a hand, which she shook. “Just call me Grantaire. And it’s not a problem at all.”

Éponine could see Enjolras clenching and unclenching his jaw as he drove, and she gently reached over to put a hand on his knee. “Give him a chance, Enjolras,” she murmured. “He’s sober now, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but this is an incredibly rare occasion,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ve known him for years, Éponine. He’s far too fond of the drink for your sister’s good.”

She chuckled. “It’s been said that my sister is often a good influence on people,” she smiled. “Let’s see if she can work her magic on Grantaire.”

 

By the end of the night, Éponine was glad that she was staying with Enjolras. She had been so worried about retrieving her sister that it was a relief not to go back to her apartment for the night. He locked the door behind them once they were in, clearly still stewing over Grantaire’s offer to keep Azelma. “Just go get some sleep, Enjolras,” she half-yawned, nearly collapsing onto the couch.

He chuckled when he saw her looking so childlike. “You sure you want to sleep out here? I have a spare bedroom, you know.”

“I’m not moving,” she grumbled through the pillow.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile. “Fine,” he laughed, kissing her forehead. “Goodnight, Éponine. I love you.”

Even though she was already asleep, he almost thought he heard, “I love you too.”


	14. Romancing Her

Azelma nearly panicked when she woke up the next morning.

When her eyes slowly opened, she was in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar apartment. She recognized nothing in the room as she looked around, and her panic started steadily growing. In her fear, she started scrambling to get out of bed, not realizing a corner of the sheet was wrapped around her ankle. With a shriek, she fell onto the floor.

She heard quick pounding footsteps, and the door burst open to a young man wearing a long nightshirt and had wild black hair. When he saw the confused young woman in front of him, he relaxed with a heavy sigh. “God, you gave me a scare,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“ _I_ gave _you_ a scare?” she shrieked, making him cringe. “Where the hell am I?!”

“Azelma, calm down,” he said gently. “Remember me? I’m Grantaire, and you’re in my apartment. I brought you here last night after we got you from your aunt’s house on Manhattan Island.”

The events of the previous night suddenly flashed through her mind, and she remembered this kind, dark-haired young man that had offered her food and lodging with him. She relaxed, pulling her ankle out of the sheet. “Right, of course. I just – I didn’t remember when I woke up…” she said.

The young man – Grantaire – nodded kindly. “It’s alright, I understand,” he said gently.

Azelma looked down shyly, unable to maintain eye contact with him. “Sorry I scared you,” she chuckled nervously.

Grantaire just smiled kindly at her. “No need to be afraid when you’re with me, my dear,” he said gently, offering her a hand. “I mean it.” Azelma could barely contain a blush as she took his outstretched hand, and he helped her to her feet. “Now, would you like some breakfast?” he asked, gesturing up the hall to the front of his apartment.

“Please God, yes.”

 

Éponine, on the other hand, was a little less confused than her younger sister when she woke up the next morning. Her back was sore from a night sleeping on Enjolras’ couch, but she smiled when she remembered where she was. She stretched her arms out over her head, yawning heavily as she stood up, wandering over to the kitchen to start the coffee. She rubbed her eyes, preparing the machine, when two strong arms snaked around her waist and pulled her close to an equally strong torso.

“Good morning, my dear,” Enjolras murmured, kissing her temple. Éponine couldn’t help but smile as she relaxed back into his embrace, letting her hands run over his arms. He made her so, so happy. He made her happier than she’d ever been in her life.

“Mmh, good morning dear,” she smiled, turning around to gently kiss his lips. “Sleep well?”

“Quite well, actually,” he remarked as she turned around in his arms for him to hug her properly. Enjolras allowed himself to close his eyes and rest his cheek on her hair as he hugged the woman he loved, gently rubbing her back. “Better than I expected.”

Éponine nodded. “Me too. Especially since I know Azelma’s in a safer place now.” Enjolras bristled again, but said nothing. “What?” she asked, frowning at him. “Do you not trust Grantaire to take care of her?”

He sighed quietly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew Éponine was likely to disagree with him on this. “I do worry about his responsibility, yes…mostly the lack thereof that he’s proven to us for most of his adult life, what with his drinking problem.” He paused. “But…I hope that he’ll rise to the occasion and do what he needs to do to keep her safe.”

A bit to his surprise, Éponine nodded a little. “I wasn’t really expecting him to step up and offer to keep her, really,” she said. “You’ve never spoken so highly of him.”

“True,” Enjolras remarked with a slight nod as she poured two mugs of coffee. “But that’s because I’ve never had reason to. I pitied him when his father died while we were in law school, because we were still rather young, and Grantaire was very close to him. But when he started using that as an excuse to drink his sorrows away, I stopped feeling sorry for him. He was in a mess of his own making by then,” he finished, nodding his thanks as she handed him one cup.

“How old was his father when he passed?” she asked curiously, taking a small sip.

“Only 56.”

Éponine cringed a little. “Very young.”

Enjolras nodded. “It’s been five years. Grantaire was only 25; he and I both turn 30 this year.”

She sighed softly in pity. “Poor Grantaire. That must have been hard on him.” She paused. “Perhaps the fact that he did step up is a sign. And maybe Azelma can help him. She almost got our father to stop drinking for an entire month once, not long after Mama died,” she chuckled.

He grinned, hugging her again. “I suppose we’ll have to see.”

After enjoying breakfast and a few cups of coffee together, Éponine decided to make a grocery store run with Enjolras. “If I’m going to be living with you, I’m going to help with the food,” she laughed. She was perfectly comfortable walking around the grocery store with him, letting him put his arm around her waist, place the occasional discreet kiss on her temple when no one else was looking. Éponine was floating on a cloud, and she didn’t want to come down.

But her departure from her bliss was abrupt when she spotted Babet and Claquesous down the next aisle.

She froze, catching the handle of the cart in a death grip. No. They couldn’t be here. Not right now. Not while everything was finally going so well for her…

“Éponine?” Enjolras murmured in her ear, clearly concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Those two men, down the next aisle,” she hissed. “They’re in my father’s gang.”

Enjolras’ heart nearly stopped. He risked a brief glance at the men, and recognized one of them from the shooting at the courthouse. He clenched his fists at his side, trying to think about anything but punching them both in their filthy faces. “What do you want to do?” he murmured in her ear, trying to stay calm. “We can’t let them see you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she muttered, already shrinking behind him. “You should probably stay out of sight, too. Babet will recognize you from the courtroom.”

At that moment, Claquesous’ head turned.

Éponine’s own heart nearly stopped. She grabbed Enjolras’ arm, pulling him back into the aisle where they were standing.

“Babet, meat freezer’s this way,” he grunted, before the two men walked past them without even a glance. The two relaxed slightly, before the crony spoke again, picking up a package of ground beef. “Say, you think this one looks a bit like tha’ bloke the boss knocked off last week?”

They both laughed as Éponine cringed and Enjolras tried not to vomit. These two were absolutely sick. How could they joke so casually about murder? In public, no less?

“Nah, that one’s gonna be Azelma when ‘e gets a hold of ‘er,” Babet retorted with a broad grin. “That little shit may never see the light o’ day again. You remember ‘ow mad the boss was when he found out she ran off. Didn’t talk to ‘Parnasse for almost a week.”

Claquesous nodded. “Now as for ‘Ponine…”

Enjolras’ grip on her waist tightened, and he felt her shaking against him. All he wanted was to race over there and punch them both to bloody pulps, but he stayed where he was. For her.

“If the boss ever gets ‘is ‘ands on ‘er…” he clucked his tongue. “I pity the poor little wench. An’ ‘er bastard lawyer of a boyfriend.”

“Whaddya think ‘e’ll do to ‘er?” Babet asked.

“If ‘e don’t kill ‘er first…‘e’d kill the boyfriend in front of ‘er, let us all ‘ave another go with ‘er in the back room, an’ then kill ‘er,” Claquesous answered casually. “At least, tha’s wha’ I think.”

They finally walked away, and their sick conversation faded into the background of the grocery store noise. Éponine was still shaking, and Enjolras heard her tiny sobs against his chest. He squeezed her tightly against him, gently stroking her hair and shushing her quietly. “Those filthy bastards are never going to get their hands on you as long as I’m alive,” Enjolras growled, his blood still boiling at what they’d heard.

“But…what about you?” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “You heard what they said…”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Worry about those two when I get _my_ hands on them.”

“Don’t,” she said firmly. “They’re not worth it, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not leaving you, Éponine,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Ever. That’s a promise.”

 

Grantaire still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into.

Aside from her panic attack that morning, Azelma had so far been very easy to have in the apartment, mostly because he hardly heard a peep from her room. Their interaction had been minimal thus far – after a fairly quiet breakfast, she had gone straight back to her room, closed the door, and not made another sound. He knocked on the door to let her know when he was going to the store, and when he got back. He sighed to himself, running a hand over his face. _What the hell am I doing?_

On a whim, he got up from his desk where he was going over some papers and quietly knocked on the girl’s door. “Azelma?” he called softly. “Azelma, are you in there?”

“Come in,” he heard timidly from the other side of the door.

When Grantaire opened the door, he was surprised to see her sitting on the bed, an open collection of Shakespeare on her lap. She looked haggard, tired…worn down. “Are you alright?” He asked again, sitting down to face her on the foot of the bed. “I haven’t heard you make a sound hardly all day,” he said.

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. “I’m fine, thank you. It’s just…”

Grantaire frowned. “Just what?”

“I still worry that Montparnasse will find me here…and I don’t know what he’d do to me; he’d be so angry…and then you and your friends would be in harm’s way, too…and my sister…”

“Your sister is perfectly safe with Enjolras,” Grantaire assured her, “and you’re perfectly safe with me, I promise.” He nodded down to the Shakespeare; “Does it help?”

Azelma nodded, returning her eyes to the page. “It takes my mind off things. Well…usually it does.”

He scooted around to her other side to see what she was reading. “Ah, _Twelfth Night_. A classic.”

“It’s my favorite,” she added, smiling a little. He couldn’t help but notice that her eyes lit up a little more when she smiled. Grantaire was glad that he could help distract her from her problems, at least for a little while. She did seem to be a very sweet girl, much like her older sister. One that didn’t deserve such a shit father and a lifetime of abuse.

“Azelma…” Grantaire began slowly.

“Yes?”

He paused. How to pose the question. “Forgive me for asking, but…why Montparnasse? He’s never seemed like the nicest of guys from my interactions with him…”

She sighed, running a hand over her long hair. “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?”

“The long one, by all means.”

“That requires some backstory.” Grantaire gestured for her to continue, and she nodded. “Well, I’ve almost idolized Éponine my entire life. She left home when she was 20 to get a clean job and try to stay out of Papa’s gang. I was 18, Gavroche was 10 and the twins were 9. None of us really understood why she’d left. Well, she and Montparnasse had been an item before she left home. When she was gone…”

“…he turned his affections to you?”

“I was 18, and didn’t have any experience with boys. I never really went out, and I’d never actually dated. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into…until…”

“…Until?”

Azelma bit her lip. “One night, not long before my 19th birthday…he, er…came into my room during the night…and…I woke up at the pain…”

Grantaire put a hand on her arm to stop her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t show it – Grantaire was always good at hiding his emotions – but his blood was boiling at the thought of a teenage Azelma being violated by that bastard.

She wiped her eyes hastily, clearly trying not to cry. “I was stupid, and I still stayed with him. I thought to myself, ‘If he does this when he says he loves me…’”

“…you wondered how much worse it would get if you left,” Grantaire finished.

She nodded. “Exactly. Ever since then…I’ve always been afraid of men. For God’s sake, I’m 26 years old, and I can hardly look a man in the eye. Much less think about getting married, ever having a family of my own…” The dam finally broke, and Azelma began to cry, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in them. _Twelfth Night_ sat open in front of them on the bed, long forgotten.

Grantaire was taken aback at the sudden burst of emotion. He’d been trying to help, not…this… “Please don’t cry,” he pleaded under his breath. Gingerly, he put a hand on her shoulder. That’s what people did when they comforted others, wasn’t it? He really wasn’t very good at this; it wasn’t often that he had a crying woman on his hands.

However, she leaned into the gesture, resting her head against his shoulder as she sniffled. Gently, he let his arm wrap around her shoulders as he shushed her quietly. “It’s going to be alright,” he murmured. “I promise.” That was a good thing to say, wasn’t it?

“I’m just scared of what’s going to happen…” She whimpered.

“Don’t be,” Grantaire said firmly. “You have no need to be afraid when you’re with me.”

She looked up from his shoulder with a small smile, wiping her puffy eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Grantaire.”

He laughed. “None of that mess, Miss Azelma. Just call me Grantaire. Better yet, call me Alan.”

Her smile grew. “Alright, Alan. It’s a deal.”

 

“But you hate your first name!” Courfeyrac blurted out.

Grantaire could only shrug. “Not when she says it, for some reason.”

“Has she actually called you Alan yet, or are you just saying that to get the rest of us off your back?” Combeferre asked dryly, taking a sip of his coffee with raised eyebrows.

“She has, thank you very much,” Grantaire replied crisply. “More than once, believe it or not.”

“I’ll believe it when I hear it,” Joly answered with a wry smile.

Enjolras sat between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, absorbing the conversation around him but saying nothing. He drank his coffee as he remembered the situation in the grocery store earlier that day, when he was with Éponine. The look of fear in her eyes when she spotted her father’s thugs across the aisle was something Enjolras had never wanted to see while she was under his protection. Had he failed her somehow? Even though nothing bad had happened, there was always the potential for something to go horribly wrong…what if he wasn’t there to defend her when something did happen?

“You’re awfully quiet, Enjolras,” Grantaire remarked from the other side of the table. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine,” Enjolras said distantly, taking another drink of his coffee. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Mademoiselle Éponine wearing you out, is she?” Joly asked with a raised eyebrow.

He barely kept a faint blush from creeping into his cheeks. “No!” He half-shouted.

“Oh, so you can keep up with her?” Courfeyrac winked.

“No, I’m not sleeping with her!” Enjolras insisted.

The boys laughed in unison. “Your girlfriend is sleeping at your place, and you’re _not_ leaping on the opportunity to sleep with her?” Grantaire asked in fake shock, clucking his tongue.

“No, I’m not. Because unlike you, _Alan,_ I’m a gentleman,” Enjolras retorted with a wide grin.

“Our leader has a point,” Joly added. “You’ve got a pretty dame staying with you, and we haven’t seen _you_ leaping on the opportunity, _Alan_.”

“Unless there’s something you haven’t told us, _Alan_ ,” Combeferre said, barely concealing his own broad grin.

“Wha – no, Azelma’s not my girlfriend!” Grantaire spluttered.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked, pausing briefly. “ _Alan_?”

Grantaire was at a complete loss for words. He tried to stammer a clever response, but nothing came out except nonsense syllables, making the boys laugh harder. “I am agog, I am aghast!” Joly cried over dramatically. “Is Grantaire in love at last?”

“No, I’m not love – I mean, I’m not _in_ love!” Grantaire half-shouted.

“Who’s not in love with whom?” A female voice asked coolly from behind them.

Dead silence fell over the assembled men, shock plastered on their faces. Éponine looked over each of them once, waiting for an answer to her question. “What?” She asked. Right on cue, they all burst out laughing – all except Grantaire, who was turning an impressive shade of red and sinking into his chair like a small child. “Aww, are they picking on you, Grantaire?” She cooed in mock sympathy, taking her seat next to Enjolras. He put an arm around her shoulders, discreetly kissing her temple.

“Oh no, his name is _Alan_ ,” Courfeyrac quickly mocked.

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “ _Alan_ , eh? Where’d that come from?”

“Nowhere!” Grantaire said quickly, as Combeferre dragged out, “Azelma!”

Her eyebrow rose further. “Oh, really?” She grinned. “What’s going on between _Alan_ here and my sister?”

“That’s just the thing,” Enjolras filled her in. “He won’t tell us.” Éponine started to ponder as Joly leapt up, “Who wants coffee?”

“Yes, please!” Grantaire exclaimed as he started to stand.

Éponine placed a hand on his, stopping him. “Actually, Grantaire, can I talk to you for a minute?”

His heart nearly stopped. _Oh God. She wants to talk to me. This can’t be good. This isn’t good at all…_

“We’ll just, uh…leave you two for a bit, shall we?” Courfeyrac said awkwardly as the rest of the boys hurriedly made their way to the counter.

“Do you plan on threatening him or something?” Enjolras murmured in her ear. She chuckled. “Go,” she laughed, gently pushing him away.

Éponine and Grantaire sat in silence for a moment, neither of them really knowing how or where to start. She bit her lower lip, pondering what she wanted to say. “Grantaire…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I don’t know how much she’s told you, but my sister’s past isn’t…” She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that the alcohol – ”

“Éponine, I haven’t been remotely tempted to pick up a bottle of wine for the last two days,” he said immediately. “Normally, if I hadn’t been drinking, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be at home, getting drunk,” he half-snorted. “What _I’m_ trying to say is…there’s something flat-out magical about your sister. She’s given me something to care about, and I haven’t had that since the day my father died.” As if he’d suddenly realized how much he’d said, he looked down awkwardly, fiddling with the cutlery.

Éponine eyed him carefully. She was certainly surprised that he had opened up to her so quickly, and she was especially surprised at what he’d said. “Are you…saying what I think you’re saying?” She asked slowly.

He sighed. “I think I’m in love with your sister, Ép. But please don’t tell the boys; I’d never hear the end of it,” he begged.

Éponine smiled, putting her hand on top of his. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she assured him.

 

He twirled the shot glass of whiskey between his right thumb and index finger, his mind far away as he took a sip. Richard Enjolras, Sr. figured his son would be putting him on trial for the Fantine case. It was all too obvious, what with the fact that they hadn’t spoken in days. Richard hadn’t even come to Mass.

As he put the glass away under his desk, he remembered what Richard had said a few weeks before about his new girlfriend – _“We’ll talk about this after you close the Thénardier trial. Not before.”_ He was still annoyed every time he thought about the little…interruption in court that day. He had managed to get out unscathed, but of course, his son had stayed behind to help that whore on the stand when she got shot. Had he just let her bleed out none of this would be happening…

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “What?” He snapped.

“Important file from the judge, sir,” his secretary’s voice sounded from the other side. “He demands you see it immediately.”

Richard sighed in irritation. “Alright, come in.” The door opened just long enough for Colette to drop the file onto his open palm. He opened it as the door shut behind her, scanning the page.

 

The criminal trial for

 

AUGUSTE R. THÉNARDIER

 

Will continue on

 

MONDAY, 29 JUNE, 1931

At 1:00 in the afternoon

 

Signed: _Honorable James Roberts_

 

He gently set the memo down on his desk. Finally, this trial was going to end, and he could redeem his damn foolish son.


	15. Loving Her, Part Three

“So what did you want to talk to Grantaire about?” Enjolras asked for about the fifth time as they walked into the apartment. She had refused to budge on the matter for the entire car ride home, and Enjolras was starting to get slightly irritated at her persistence.

“I’ve already told you, he didn't want me to say,” Éponine responded with infuriating calm as she took off her scarf. “My father may be a criminal, but _I’m_ a woman of my word.”

He sighed. “You can be infuriating sometimes, you know that?”

“I love you, too,” she replied coolly, kissing his cheek as the phone started to ring. “I’ll get it!” She called cheerfully, half-skipping over to the receiver. Enjolras could only smile at the woman he loved as she jumped so happily across the room. Éponine picked up mid-ring and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

There was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line, before an angry, menacing male voice said, “So, my son’s got his whore staying with him now?”

The cheerful smile from moments ago fell clean from her face, and she froze, the receiver still against her ear. “Éponine?” She heard Enjolras’ voice distantly. “Is something wrong?” Without a word, she handed the receiver to him.

He took it from her slowly, still unsure what to make of her sudden, strange change of demeanor. “Hello?”

“Enough of this nonsense, son,” his father’s angry voice snapped at him. “Come home.”

Enjolras grit his teeth in irritation. _Of course._ “What are you talking about, Father?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Keeping her at your apartment, for God’s sake? We’ve had this discussion already! How long will this go on?!”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s some kind of animal,” the younger man snapped. “She’s a grown woman, and she also happens to be the woman I love.”

His father snorted. “Oh, my ever-naïve son. You think you’re in love with this woman now, but it’s only because she hasn’t yet left you for the other side.”

“Enough, Father,” Enjolras hissed. His tone was quiet, which intimidated Éponine even more, despite the fact that he wasn’t talking to her. “What do you want?”

“I know about the case you’re planning against me, son.”

Enjolras’ heart nearly stopped. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he had to sit down to regain his composure. “Do you blame me for it?” He asked, keeping his voice as even as possible. “All I want is justice for my half-sister and her mother.”

“And to throw me in jail.”

“Father, what you did to them was wrong, no matter how much you deny it,” he said angrily.

“You think this is justice? You don’t know what justice is, son.”

“Do you?” Enjolras snapped, his temper rising. “The law you quoted to me ad nauseam my whole life says that _you’re_ in the wrong. You _will_ lose this case; I’ll make sure of it.”

“Enough of your petulance. _You_ will drop the case, or _I’ll_ make sure to ruin that woman you claim to love.”

His blood boiled at the thought of his father doing anything to harm Éponine. “No, Father,” Enjolras answered with deadly calm. “You won’t. Because I won’t let you.” He slammed the receiver down with finality, glaring at it for good measure. Éponine was standing a short distance away, looking worried. “Well? What did he want?” She asked in a small voice.

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and let out a deep sigh. “Father knows about the Fantine case,” he said heavily. “I don’t know how he found out about it, but apparently he did.”

She gaped at him in shock. “What?”

“He told me to drop it, or…” Enjolras trailed off. Was it really a good idea to tell her what he’d said?

Éponine frowned. “Or?”

“Or…he’s going to make my life hell,” Enjolras answered slowly. He couldn’t make her think he was blaming her; there was no way he could blame her, for any of this.

She sighed softly in pity, walking over to sit next to him. “Enjolras, you can’t let your father bully you into dropping this case. It’s important to you, and to Fantine and Cosette. Even with personal attachments aside, he should be brought to justice.”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. “You’re right. You’re always right,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “What would I do without you around, Éponine?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Get really bad advice from Grantaire?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “True,” he grinned.

 

Grantaire was starting to like the sound of his first name.

Over the last few days, after he’d checked on her, Azelma had started to open up to him more. She’d been staying with him for almost a week now, and already, things between them were much smoother than they had been. He really liked having her around…but mostly he liked _her_.

Before her, the constant silence in his apartment often left him incredibly lonely, which would drive him to drink even more than usual. Azelma didn’t just keep him company during the day; she also kept his drinking in check. Instead of wasting a night drinking an entire bottle of wine by himself, the two of them would share it, or they would actually do something. Grantaire surprised her with weekend tickets to _Twelfth Night_ in the park, and he was surprised at how much he enjoyed being out for an evening, especially with her. Watching her face light up at each witty Shakespearean quip was worth every penny. She even helped him keep the characters straight when he had trouble.

Through her, he had an outlet into the childhood of a Thénardier – Azelma would often tell him about their life around the inn when she was growing up, before it went under and her father first took to theft, then to bootlegging in a vain attempt to stay afloat. Her complete volume of Shakespeare was her most prized possession – Éponine got it for her when she was 10, just before their father emptied their bank accounts and forbade them from making their own purchases. “He said _he_ would provide for us, and we didn’t need anything else,” she said a little bitterly, cradling the book to her chest. They were sitting on the couch together, just after a light lunch. “Of course, he never did; he was too busy with his gang…so it always fell on Éponine to take care of us. I actually kept this from Papa for awhile, to make him think I’d gotten rid of it when he told me to. Ép and I would take turns hiding it under our beds.”

Grantaire sighed softly in pity. “I’m so sorry,” he said for perhaps the hundredth time that week.

As she always did, Azelma just shrugged. “That was just life growing up. We got used to it.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “How do you get used to that?”

She chuckled sadly. “It’s…a little hard to explain, really. You just…do. And we always had ‘Ponine to look after us; she practically raised Gav and the twins.”

“But that’s not how it should have been,” he said stubbornly. “ _None_ of that should have happened to you. It’s not fair.”

She rubbed his shoulder blade gently. “Oh, relax, Alan. It’s in the past, anyway. You know what they say, what’s done is done.”

There it was again – that stupid grin he couldn’t help whenever she said his name. He quickly wiped it off, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “But still…why did that have to happen to you?” He asked softly. Almost before he realized it, his left hand had reached up to brush her hair back from her face. “It’s not fair…” he repeated in almost a whisper.

She reached up to catch his hand as it gently passed the top of her right ear, and Grantaire noticed for the first time how warm her hand was. His senses were suddenly all alive – he could see how wide those bright brown eyes were, he could feel the warmth of her skin on his, he could hear her breath catching in her throat. They had a moment of perfect clarity, perfect understanding, as they stared into each other’s eyes. There was no need for words.

Grantaire wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but what he did know was that the moment his lips touched hers, it was perfection. It was slow, gentle, sweet…he never knew a kiss could feel so natural as he gently cupped her cheek, letting his fingertips gently trace the outline of her jaw. Azelma’s hand slowly drifted from the rough stubble of his cheek to the back of his neck, and she used it to pull him closer, deepening the kiss as her tongue begged entry into his mouth. Grantaire gladly obliged her, and even put a hand on her hip to steady her. Taking it as encouragement, Azelma leaned in even closer, moving a leg over his so she was half-straddling him. Surprised, he slowly pulled back from the kiss and let his eyes open as he tried to catch his breath. Azelma quickly retreated from her position on his lap, her eyes suddenly wider with…was that fear? “I – I’m so sorry…” she stammered quickly, before taking off to the back of the apartment.

Grantaire gaped after her in shock, before leaping up and racing after her to the back bedroom. “Why the hell are you apologizing?” He asked incredulously when he found her. “I didn’t want to pull back from that!”

She raised her eyebrows as she turned to face him. “Then…why did you?” she murmured.

“Because I thought…” He trailed off with a sigh, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Azelma, I know your past experiences with men haven’t exactly been pretty. I want to change that for you. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

She chuckled sadly, pressing her forehead into her palms. “You’ve already changed that for me, Alan,” she smiled. “All my life, I had no idea what a real man was supposed to be like…and then I met you, and you took me in, and you…actually treated me like a human being…”

Grantaire stood in the doorframe of the bedroom and opened his arms. “Come here.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his ribcage as his curled around her shoulders. She was surprisingly strong, despite her tiny size. “You are a queen among women, Azelma Thénardier,” he murmured into her hair. “And you deserve to be treated as such.” She sighed quietly, pressing into his chest. Grantaire even thought he felt a single tear fall from her cheek to his chest. “Don’t cry, ‘Zelma,” he murmured gently, stroking her hair. “I’m right here.”

“Even if they’re tears of joy?” She whispered. “I’ve never been this secure with a man, ever. I trust you, Alan. With my life.”

Grantaire’s breath left him in a rush, and he could only hug her even tighter. “I’m so glad. I’m _so_ glad.”

 

Enjolras hadn’t been able to get his mind off his father’s phone call all day, and it was starting to worry Éponine. No matter how hard she tried, if she left the room for more than a few seconds, he’d be pacing like a caged animal when she came back. It was a hugely ethical case for him, and she knew it was making this harder. His father had always been a big influence on him, and Enjolras had practically idolized him for most of his life. His entire life was turning topsy-turvy so fast that it was making _her_ dizzy.

“Enjolras, you’ve _got_ to stop pacing,” she said tiredly. “You’re making me nervous.”

He sighed heavily, plopping down next to her on the couch without breaking stride. “Sorry…” he mumbled penitently, letting his head drop to his hands.

She rubbed up and down his back sympathetically; she could tell he was exhausted. “You’ve never been this worried about your own safety before,” she said. “It’s a little troubling to see you so worked up, really.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he answered quietly.

She nodded in understanding. “You’re afraid of what might happen to me if you’re gone, aren’t you?”

He looked back down at the floor. He couldn’t bear lying to her by omission like this, but what choice did he have? If she knew the extent of his father’s hatred for her, she might be in even more danger. Two warm, feminine hands on the back of his neck pulled him out of his thoughts.

“We just have shit luck with fathers, don’t we?” Éponine muttered.

He snorted, sitting up to look at her. “Looks like we do.”

She smiled a little and cuddled a little closer to him. “I’m just lucky I have _you_ ,” she whispered.

Enjolras couldn’t help a smile as he leaned in to press his lips against hers. “I love you, ‘Ponine,” he whispered back. Éponine grinned, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and gently pulled him back to her for another kiss. He was a little surprised, but eagerly kissed her back. Her small hands were suddenly all over his body – up and down, over and over.

“Well, someone’s in a mood,” Enjolras chuckled between kisses.

“Are you complaining?” She asked, grinning that devilish grin of hers that made his heart quicken a little.

“Did I sound like I was? I’m sorry; let me correct that,” he grinned, pushing her back against the couch and kissing her harder. Éponine’s tongue traced across his lips, demanding entry, and Enjolras gladly complied.

They hadn’t kissed this hard for this long before, and in the back of his mind, he was starting to wonder if he was about to hit an emotional pressure point. He knew that the Thénardier women had unpleasant histories with men, and he didn’t want to be another black spot for Éponine. With that in mind, he gradually slowed down the kiss, letting his hands roam her back as he caught her lower lip between his teeth. He sucked and pulled on it gently, making her gasp softly.

As if she had read his mind, Éponine started to pull back from him. “Enjolras…”

He released her slightly. “What is it?”

Éponine pondered how to answer. “Well…you know I don’t have a good history with men…but…”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

She looked dead at him, and he suddenly noticed the longing, the barely suppressed hunger in her eyes. “I want you,” she murmured.

Enjolras was more than a little surprised. He hadn’t been expecting this confession for a long while. “Are…you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “We don’t have to…”

She chuckled. “No man has ever asked me if I’m sure before. And that’s what makes me sure. I _want_ you.”

He stood up, offering her a hand. “Then you can have me.”

 

They barely stopped kissing long enough to open the door, half-stumbling to his bed. Éponine gasped for breath as Enjolras yanked off his tie, and she started to quickly unbutton his shirt. In moments, it was on the floor. She ran her hands unashamedly over his muscular, perfect chest. They could almost feel their hearts pounding in perfect synchronization as they kissed over and over. Enjolras pulled her close to his bare chest, tugging and teasing her blouse up until she pulled it over her head impatiently, letting it fall next to his. As his lips found her neck, Éponine gasped and her knees almost buckled. She gripped his upper arms, pressing her nails into his skin. She felt him grin against her shoulder as he lightly trailed his own fingernails down her body, pausing at the top of her skirt. He kissed her neck delicately as he started to push it down. Éponine guided his hands down her legs, until it hit the floor with a quiet _whoosh_ of air.

Enjolras stepped back to look at her for a moment, drinking in the sight. She was wearing only a bra and panties, her long hair tumbling down around her shoulders. His heart was thudding in his chest like a drum; he wondered if she could hear it.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear and kissing her again. It was a slow, passionate kiss, full of heat and longing. Éponine reached down for his belt, fumbling momentarily with the buckle before it came off, followed by his pants. Enjolras let his fingertips roam her torso, her back, until he came up to the clasps of her bra. Slowly, gently, she helped him unhook it and let the straps slide down her arms.

He kissed her again, letting his fingertips trail down her collarbone to her bare breasts. She sighed softly against his lips as he cupped one in his hand. He took it as encouragement, and gently squeezed it until she moaned quietly.

Enjolras scooped Éponine up and gently placed her on the bed, before kneeling in front of her. He leaned up to kiss her again, gently massaging her breasts. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat pounding like a drum through her skin.

As he moved closer, her hands traced down his back to the top of his underwear, which she started tugging down. He obliged her, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Her breath caught in her throat as she drank in the sight of him. There was no flaw to be found anywhere on his body, except a small white scar just above his left hip. She traced her fingers across it gently, whispering “How did you get this?”

A sad smile crossed his face. “It was just a few months before Mother died. I was climbing a tree in Central Park…I fell from a high branch and hit a sharp rock. I remember she bandaged it up right there and held me until I stopped crying.”

Éponine’s face soon mimicked his. “I’m glad you have a happy memory of her,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes and placed his forehead against hers, breathing her in. She leaned up slightly to kiss him again as he tucked her hair back, letting his hand run down her body until he reached her waist. “Are you sure?” He whispered again. “We don’t have to…”

She nodded. “I’m sure. Who has to know?”

 

Two hours later, when Enjolras finally relaxed next to Éponine, he knew that he couldn’t, shouldn’t have second-guessed her readiness for this. He looked at her as she lay hazy-eyed at his side, her long hair damp with sweat, fanned out on his pillow. He let one finger caress the outline of her face, before trailing back to her lips. They kissed again, softer and slower than they had before. “Éponine…”

“Hmm?”

“What made you so sure?” He murmured to her.

She smiled. “Because I trust you, Enjolras. With everything.”

He smiled back and wrapped her up in his arms. “I thank God every day that you’re mine,” he said softly into her hair. “I love you, Éponine Thénardier.”

“I love you too, Richard Enjolras.”


	16. Remembering Her

Enjolras woke up slowly the next morning, his arms wrapped around something rather solid. As he slowly regained consciousness, he remembered his night with Éponine, and he couldn’t help but smile, especially as he watched her sleep against his chest, her arms loosely wrapped around his back. She was everything to him, everything he could have ever wanted. _Thank God for that first night we met at the Whitehorse._

Soon, she stirred slightly against him. “Mmh…good morning, love,” she smiled sleepily at him, her chin resting on his chest.

Enjolras smiled again, kissing the top of her head. “It is a good morning, indeed,” he murmured in her ear. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in months,” she replied with a yawn, sitting up slightly and stretching out her arms. “Do we _have_ to get out of bed today?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so…I need to start getting ready for my first solo prosecution,” he sighed. “Combeferre should be coming over this afternoon, and he might bring Courfeyrac. I’m not sure I can do all this planning by myself.”

Éponine frowned in sympathy. “I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you…but then again…” A wicked grin spread over her face. “I guess I just have to get your mind off of it.”

“Oh?”

Éponine leaned back over and kissed him again; first slowly, then gradually more urgently. Enjolras reacted accordingly, kissing her back and pulling her closer until she was completely on top of him. He was just about ready for a second round when the doorbell spoiled their mood.

Enjolras groaned under his breath. “Of all the days he’s early…”

She chuckled, sliding off of him and onto the bed. “Go get dressed,” she chuckled, giving him a gentle push. “Can’t keep him waiting too long.”

Enjolras snorted a little as he quickly pulled on clean clothes, not even bothering to button his shirt. After all, it was just Combeferre; his best friend had seen him in far worse states over the years. He walked out from the bedroom to the front of the apartment, hastily brushing his hair out of his face before he opened the door.

The person on the threshold was not Combeferre.

“Cosette?” He asked in surprise.

“I take it you were expecting someone else?” She asked dryly, noting his uncovered chest.

Enjolras blushed deep scarlet, hastening to button up his shirt. “Actually, I was. My best friend is also about to be a prosecutor; he’s going to help me establish my case this afternoon. Er, please, come in,” he said a little awkwardly, ushering her in the door and closing it as she sat down on his couch. “What brings you here?” He asked, straightening his now buttoned shirt.

“Mama has fallen quite ill,” Cosette said softly. “And I don’t know if she’ll be well enough to testify.”

“How bad do the doctors say it is?”

Cosette grimaced. “It’s bad.”

Enjolras had to suppress a groan. This was the last thing his case needed. “Can she make it a few more days? After I talk to Combeferre this afternoon I’m going straight to the judge’s office to get this case on the docket. We’d have to wait a week at most for a court date.”

“It’s possible she could live out of pure spite,” Cosette chuckled. “She’s told me, she’ll do anything to make Papa pay for what he did.”

“Then she has to survive,” Enjolras said firmly. “Where is she now?”

“The Bronx Hospital.”

Enjolras clenched his jaw, making a decision. “Éponine,” he called over his shoulder, “can you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” she said, walking out to the front of the apartment.

“Call Combeferre and tell him he’s going to have to come for dinner. We’re going on an adventure.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Where to?”

“The Bronx Hospital, to see Fantine.”

That was when Éponine noticed the young blonde woman sitting on the sofa. “You must be Cosette,” she said with a kind smile, walking over to her and extending a hand. “I’m Éponine; it’s nice to meet you.” Her boyfriend’s half-sister was clearly rather shy, but she took Éponine’s hand and gently shook it with a quiet murmur of “Likewise.” Turning to her brother, she asked, “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you’re ready to go.”

 

The drive to the Bronx Hospital was quiet and tense. Enjolras kept a death grip on the steering wheel the entire time. His strong jaw was clenched and his normally peaceful blue eyes were dark and angry. It worried Éponine to see him like this. He almost became a different person when he was this kind of angry. He was so much more abrasive, and she didn’t like it.

“How much further?” He asked Cosette, and Éponine heard the harshness in his voice.

“Just a right turn up here, and then it’s at the end of the street,” she said from the backseat. She seemed to have picked up on the tension as well as she kept her voice down.

Enjolras kept his breathing even and measured as he turned down the street Cosette indicated. He wondered if his father had played some part in Fantine’s sudden illness. If he knew about the case, would he have tried to have her poisoned? Enjolras could only wonder, and hope he wasn’t getting too paranoid. He parked the car as they arrived at the hospital, and Éponine put a hand on his knee. “It’s going to be alright,” she murmured gently.

He sighed quietly. “I hope so. Coming, Cosette?”

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Enjolras.”

He smiled. “Cosette, we’re siblings. I’m Richard to you as well.”

The three of them walked abreast to the front door of the hospital, where Cosette took the lead and walked up to the desk. “Hello, we’re here to see Fantine Tholomyés,” she said to the woman sitting there.

“Are you family?”

“I’m her daughter; this is my brother and his fiancée,” she said, gesturing to Enjolras and Éponine, who appropriately had her hand gently hooked through his arm.

“Just a moment, please,” the receptionist answered, picking up a phone on her desk. Enjolras only heard part of the one-sided conversation, including Fantine’s name, as he let his thoughts words. “She’s upstairs, in room 47. The doctor will meet you there.”

“Thank you very much,” Enjolras said.

“Nice cover, Cosette,” Éponine grinned once they were safely in the stairwell. “How’d you think of it so quickly?”

Cosette grinned back. “Let’s just say I have some experience inventing backstories. With time to think about it on the drive, this one was a piece of cake.”

Enjolras grinned, releasing Éponine’s arm long enough to hug his younger half-sister. “You’re brilliant, ‘Sette,” he murmured. “Can I call you that?” He asked quickly.

“You’re my big brother; you’re not supposed to ask,” she chuckled. “But since you did, feel free.”

They followed the signs to room 47, where a doctor was standing outside the door. “Tholomyés family?” He asked. Cosette nodded. “Renée said you would be coming. She’s right through here.”

He led them through the rows of beds lining the walls to Fantine, who was on the left side of the room and close to the back corner. Enjolras’ heart sank when he saw her. She had always looked thin and frail, but now, she was positively skeletal. He was starting to wonder if she was already dead, but his fears were allayed when she opened her eyes.

“Cosette, my child…” she whispered in a cracking voice, embracing her daughter with a smile. Enjolras and Éponine let their hands lace together as they looked on, not forgetting to play their respective roles of her son and daughter-in-law-to-be.

“I’ll leave you all now,” the doctor said gently, walking away to attend to another patient.

“How are you feeling, Mama?” Cosette murmured gently.

Fantine sighed heavily as she lay back down in her bed. “I am old and tired, my dear,” she answered in a voice that was far too heavy for Enjolras’ comfort. “I wonder if I’m going to die soon.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Cosette pleaded, stroking the back of her mother’s hand. “You have to go on a little longer.”

Enjolras stepped forward. “I’m going to prepare my case against my father today and take it to the judge’s office as soon as possible to get it on the docket. Do you think you’ll be able to testify for me?”

The hard, steely gleam that he had seen before in her eyes suddenly returned. “I’ll do what I must to make sure that your father is brought to justice, Richard.”

“Then you have to survive a little longer,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that we win this case, and I have friends from law school who will do the same. We just have to hope that we draw a judge who will be impartial, despite the influential man my father has been.”

Fantine nodded. “I will hope, and I will pray.”

The young man nodded. “Thank you, Fantine. I think we’ll need all the divine intervention we can get.” He stepped back from the bed, taking Éponine’s hand. “I think we’ll be going back home now. Cosette, are you coming with us?”

A bit to his surprise, she shook her head. “I’d like to stay with my mama a while longer.”

Enjolras nodded. “Of course. I’ll be in touch with you very soon.”

 

Cosette sat at her mother’s bedside for a long time after Mr. Enjolras – no, he was her brother, and his name was Richard – left with Éponine. She was still having trouble wrapping her head around the fact that _she actually had a brother._ It was absolutely wild. Her life was changing so fast, and she felt like she could hardly keep up…but in a way, she was alright with it. For once, this was a good change. She liked Richard and Éponine both. They seemed to disregard the fact that she was illegitimate and had grown up on the streets, and treated her like a normal person – like a part of their little family. She smiled as she thought about meeting Éponine that morning. She had been so kind and accepting. Her brother obviously had excellent taste in women, if he’d picked her.

She took her mother’s hand in hers, stroking her rough skin as she thought – she thought about the current situation, the court case, her brother, what life would have been like if she’d known him all along…Cosette smiled to herself. When she was little, she’d always wanted an older brother. _Now I have one._

She closed her eyes and thought back to her childhood with Mama and Papa in the slums of New York – Papa scraped out a living by bootlegging, and Mama had held down some other odd jobs when Cosette was young to try and make ends meet. It had been hard, but now Cosette knew that it was because her real father never sent the money he owed to Mama for her care. Suddenly, she felt anger bubbling up inside of her. Who did he think he was, to deny the mother of his child what she needed to care for them?

Fantine’s eyes opened as Cosette was lost in thought. “What is it, my dear?” the mother murmured softly, taking the daughter’s hand and bringing her back to the present. “You look upset.” A long bout of hacking stopped Cosette from answering. She held her mother’s hand until the fit subsided, putting on a strong face. _She needs you to be strong now, Cosette._

         “It was nothing, Mama; I’m fine. Get some rest.”

 

         After most of the afternoon was spent running errands around town and a quick visit to the judge’s office, they finally made it back to the apartment. Enjolras immediately called Combeferre and Éponine started wandering around the kitchen to get their dinner going. Enjolras had told her about Fantine and Cosette, but she had never met either of them before today. The latter had been very tentative around her, but Éponine wondered if that was simply due to the nature of her upbringing. Having raised four younger siblings on the streets, she knew how nerve-wracking meeting a complete stranger could be.

But Fantine…

Éponine sighed softly to herself as she thought about Cosette’s mother. Even in her weakened state, Éponine could tell that Fantine was a woman that would stop at nothing for justice against Enjolras’ father. She knew she had been wronged, and was determined to do something about it. Éponine couldn’t help but admire her strength.

From the kitchen, she heard bits and pieces of Enjolras’ conversation with Combeferre – “Yes, we went to see her today…not good…I hope so, too. We have no case without her…yes, what did you find?…Really? interesting…I’ll want to take a look at that. So we’ll see you for dinner? Yes, 6:30…very good. Then we’ll see you soon.”

“Will Combeferre be joining us for dinner?” she called.

Enjolras nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see him from the kitchen. “Yes,” he called back. “Says he has some interesting news about the case to tell us.”

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “But it’s not even on the docket yet. How can there already be news?”

“I’m not sure,” Enjolras sighed. “I suppose we’ll find out.” He wandered over to the kitchen and put his arms around her waist as she started getting ready to cook. “What’s for dinner tonight?” he asked curiously, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m thinking pasta, if that’s alright with you and ‘Ferre,” she answered. “It’s quick and easy, and I’m starving.”

He smiled, hugging her again and kissing her cheek sweetly. “Sounds great, if you’re cooking.” Éponine couldn’t help but blush a little at the compliment. It was the little sweet things he always did that made her fall in love with him more every day. She smiled to herself. She was a lucky woman, indeed.

The food was ready earlier than they anticipated, but luckily, Combeferre was, too. The men greeted each other warmly, but a glance from Éponine warned them not to start about the trial until after dinner. “How are you, Éponine?” Combeferre asked.

She smiled; clearly her nonverbal communication had worked. “I’m well, thank you. And you?”

He sighed. “I’ve certainly been better.”

“Well, I know something that’ll cheer you up,” Enjolras said, clapping his friend on the shoulder and leading him to the dinner table. “Éponine’s cooking.”

She chuckled softly, her cheeks coloring a little. “It’s really very simple –” she started to say before Combeferre cut her off with a simple raise of his hand.

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful, Éponine,” he said.

The dinner passed quickly – Combeferre did think quite highly of Éponine’s cooking – and sooner than she liked, they were sitting in the living room and discussing the case.

“I was filling in for my father again at the office today –”

“Again?” Enjolras asked a little incredulously. “Is the man ever going to get well?” Combeferre shot his best friend a look. “Sorry,” Enjolras mumbled. “Keep going.”

“As I was saying, I was filling in for my father at the office today, but your father was next door in his office. I heard half of a rather interesting phone conversation between him and…well, the subject of my news.”

Enjolras frowned. This couldn’t be any good. “What is it?”

“If I guessed correctly, your father’s going to attempt to pay off Judge Gray to take the case and make sure he’s declared innocent.”


	17. Trusting Her

Enjolras groaned, holding his head in his palms. “Dammit…” he muttered. “This is not good at all.”

“What? What is it?” Éponine asked urgently.

“Judge Michael Gray is a good friend of my father’s from law school,” Enjolras explained grimly. “Not exactly a man to stick cleanly to the letter of the law, especially when his friends are involved. Which means that if he takes the bench, it spells doom for our case.”

Éponine swore violently under her breath – her choice of words prompted raised eyebrows from Combeferre, whereas Enjolras just shook his head – as she tried to start thinking. “There’s got to be something you can do to keep him off the case. Isn’t there?”

“That’s still unclear right now,” Combeferre answered. “If Mr. Enjolras Sr. wants Mr. Gray on the bench, he’s likely to do everything it takes to get around us and get what he wants.” He looked over to his best friend; “Am I wrong?”

The younger Enjolras shook his head. “Not at all. My father’s a very stubborn, determined man. If what you heard today was correct – especially if it actually happens – then…” he sighed heavily. “This case may be doomed before it even starts.”

Éponine set her jaw as she heard her boyfriend speak. There had to be a way to make this work for him. She could figure it out just as well as anyone else; she was a Thénardier. And Thénardiers had ways of getting what they wanted. “Is there a way you can ensure Judge Gray doesn’t get this case on his docket?” she asked. “As far as I’m aware, judges are supposed to be impartial.”

Enjolras sighed. “Technically, yes,” he said, “but there’s always a lot of string-pulling that goes on behind the scenes from various parties involved on any given case, and the rules are often bent a little, if not broken entirely. And my father is definitely the kind to engage in the aforementioned string-pulling.”

Éponine bit her lip. “There must be some way of getting him off the case. Maybe another judge?” she suggested. “We don’t know who all your father’s paying off.”

“It could be worth a try,” Combeferre added.

Enjolras sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “I suppose we’ll have to look into it. It may be our only option now. Thank you for coming today, John.”

His best friend nodded. “Of course, Richard.”

 

Enjolras was still troubled as he and Éponine got ready for bed that night. His head hung, and his mind was clearly weighed down. He stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, pacing the room and the apartment, sitting on the edge of the bed to try and collect his thoughts, and getting up to pace again. Éponine finally went to sleep around 1:00 am, but Enjolras simply couldn’t. His head was spinning, and he couldn’t figure out a solution to anything that was going on.

Finally, at 4:30 in the morning, he crawled into his bed, exhausted.

“There you are,” she murmured tiredly without opening her eyes as he got into bed.

He chuckled softly, but humorlessly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you stop pacing to try?” she asked dryly.

“No,” he admitted with another sigh as he turned onto his back. “I’m just so worried about this case; what’s going to happen…this could make or break my career before I’m even a fully licensed prosecutor. I have so much to lose, and simultaneously so much to gain.”

Éponine gently tilted his head around to face her, before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Everything’s going to be alright, love,” she murmured softly, letting her hand trace over his face. “A little worry is okay, but don’t let it control you.”

He closed his eyes, gently placing his hand over hers as he felt his consciousness miraculously start to slip away. “You’re always right…” he murmured softly, before he finally fell asleep.

 

Thénardier roared in outrage, slamming his fists on the table. “She slept wi’ ‘im?!”

Montparnasse tried not to wince at his boss’ reaction, but continued to speak in as much of a deadpan tone as he could manage. “I saw their discussion with my own eyes. Couldn’t catch most of the words, but ‘Ponine was looking like a bitch in heat when they started down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. Knowing her, I can only assume what followed.”

“Damn it all! I knew ‘e couldn’t be trusted,” Thénardier growled, still clenching his fists in anger. He stared down at them for a few seconds, before slowly lifting his gaze to meet Montparnasse’s. “And yer sure o’ this? Got any proof besides yer own eyes?”

“Not yet, no.” Montparnasse clenched his jaw. “I suppose I could take Claquesous out with me next time I go over there…”

“…Alrigh’,” he let out a heavy sigh, his grip loosening a bit. “I’ll leave it ta ye, then.” He waved a hand, dismissing Montparnasse. “Now leave; I need ta be alone ta think on this.” Montparnasse nodded sharply, exiting the room.

Thénardier didn’t know how long he spent sitting, drinking and brooding about Éponine. That stupid bitch wasn’t happy enough running away and shacking up with a lawyer; now she had to start sleeping with him, too. Oh, would she get a piece of his mind if she ever came home…

And then he got an idea.

 

Kissing Grantaire was nice, Azelma had decided. She liked the way he’d gently hold her waist in one arm, cupping her cheek with his other hand and gently pressing his lips against hers. She’d developed quite the soft spot for him over the time she’d been staying at his apartment – almost two weeks. He was sweet, witty, attentive to what she needed, and incredibly kind. Éponine had told her that Enjolras had never liked Grantaire much because of all his drinking, but that had significantly cut back since Azelma had been boarding with him.

So now, in the middle of the afternoon, here they sat on his sofa, drinking wine and kissing. Neither of them could believe how quickly their friendship – almost a relationship – had progressed in such a short amount of time. But they didn’t care.

Grantaire traced a finger lightly along Azelma’s cheek, a cheeky grin on his face as he went in for another kiss. He’d not quite expected this turn of events from taking her in, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. Her hand gently brushed across the stubble on his cheek as it went to the back of his head, gently taking a hold of his thick, black curls. He wrapped a hand around her back, pulling her tighter to him as he deepened their kiss. He had done this many times before; the ladies would always go crazy over it.

Though Azelma was…different. He didn’t want to rush things with her quite as much as he had with other women before. He wasn’t sure why, but he tried his best not to question a good thing. However, she didn’t shy away from him as she let his arm pull her onto his lap. One of her hands was still on the back of his head, the other resting on his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart pounding like a drum.

“You’re surprisingly…more forward than I expected,” Grantaire smirked up at her, tilting her head up slightly to kiss the bare skin along her chin, slowly trailing lower to her neck.

Azelma chuckled softly as his lips gently pressed against her bare skin. “I’ve already told you – this doesn’t feel rushed to me,” she said. “With you…things are different, but they’re good. It’s hard to explain.”

He chuckled, tracing his finger along the other side of her neck. “Well, I’ll let you set the pace, then,” he said softly, lifting his head up to her ear. “Now…what sort of things are you curious about trying, hmm?”

She bent her head just enough to nip at his neck. “I hadn’t given it much thought yet…” she murmured in his ear.

He pulled her further down, pressing her against his chest as he trailed kisses down to her shoulder. “Then I’ll set our pace…think you can keep up?” He teased. She bit her lip and looked away from him, sliding back down off his lap a little. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, his arms moving to her waist. “Hey, hey, whoa…I take it back, we don’t have to go that fast,” he quickly responded, looking up at her.

“He used to say that, too…” she muttered softly, before chuckling humorlessly. “And I was stupid enough to believe him, every time.”

Grantaire paused a moment, looking down. His teeth clenched a bit. “I’m not like him…” he said. “Not in any way. I swear,” he looked up at her. “I am not like Montparnasse,” he grunted, his eyes meeting hers as he tilted her face back to look at him. “I will never be like that scum.”

She looked back into his eyes. “I know, Alan. And I trust you.” She leaned over to let her head rest on his shoulder. “I suppose some of my old Thénardier paranoia is still in my head.”

He let out a sigh, hugging her with an arm. “I understand…it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “If I had to deal with that, I think I’d be a bit paranoid too,” he chuckled.

Azelma chuckled softly, letting her other arm wrap around his waist. “Thank you for being so understanding.” She kissed his cheek, murmuring, “Most men I know wouldn’t be.”

He smiled sadly, tilting her head to face him. “Most men don’t have the stomach to help a woman in need,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “And you pulled me out of a dark time in my life as well.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m glad for that.” He paused a moment, just staring into her eyes. Grantaire had felt something when they met, but he wasn’t sure at the time what it was. But now, with her in his arms…he was sure. He noticed her tilting her head to the side as she watched his face change. “What is it, Alan?”

He paused for a few more seconds before responding. “Azelma, I…I don’t think I’ve felt like this with any other woman before,” he said.

She turned to face him a little more. “W-what do you mean?”

He bit his tongue briefly in his mouth. What was he saying? How did he want to convey this? His mouth spoke before his mind could stop it. “Azelma, I…I love you.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes gone wide with shock and both hands covering her mouth. “You…love me?” she whispered at last.

He nodded slowly. “I don’t know how or when it happened, but…” he paused again, grasping for words. “I don’t want to give you to any other man.” He picked up her hand in his and looked almost pleadingly into her eyes. “I know it’s not much given the kind of man I am, but…will you give me a chance?”

Azelma grasped his hand for just a moment, before throwing her arms around him. “Alan, you’re the best man I’ve known,” she whispered. “And…I love you too.”

He smiled, hugging her back. “I am, hmm?” He chuckled. “Well, I can see where you’re coming from with that,” he teased. She chuckled, kissing his cheek lightly. He brought a hand up to lightly stroke her cheek. “Let’s not let anyone change that, shall we?” He asked softly.

“I don’t think anyone could,” she murmured with a broad smile, pressing her forehead against his.

 

Enjolras woke up early the next morning, feeling not at all rested. He kept his eyes closed, noticing how tired and heavy his body felt. He was exhausted already, and that thought filled him with dread for the days and weeks to come. Was he really capable of this at all?

He sighed softly, trying not to wake Éponine as he got out of bed, walked to the window and leaned on the sill, still breathing deeply. Enjolras surveyed the New York streets below him. The sky was still mostly dark, but the first soft rays of pink and yellow were lightening the skyscrapers that stood tall and proud on the horizon. _The world is waking,_ he thought to himself, _and for some of us, it will be anything but just another day._

Two arms gently encircled his waist, and he smiled to himself. Éponine never said a word, but stood with him in silent support.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly after a moment.

She shook her head. “I had a bit of a restless night.”

He smiled, bringing a hand up to gently caress one of the arms around his neck, giving it a light kiss. “I suppose I’m not the only one, then,” he smiled, the two of them standing there in a few small moments of comfortable silence.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked softly.

Enjolras set his jaw as he braced against the windowsill. “Do I have a choice but to be ready for this?” he asked softly.

Éponine gently rubbed his shoulders. “You can do this,” she murmured in his ear. “I know you can.”

“But what if I can’t?” he asked in a small voice, turning around to look at her; it cut her deeply to see him so pained. “What if everything goes all wrong? ‘Ponine…I’m terrified.”

She wrapped him up in her small arms, squeezing him as tightly as she could. “You have no need to be terrified, love,” she murmured into his hair. “You are brave and strong enough to do this. You faced down my father, you actually punched Montparnasse…and you saved me.”

Enjolras gave her a weak smile. “I guess I finally lived up to my middle name after all,” he murmured.

“I couldn’t be any more thankful for it,” she murmured back, kissing his lips gently. Enjolras let his hand come up to cradle her shoulder blade as he kissed her back; her touch was a balm to his worried soul. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go get that case of yours on the docket.”


	18. Embracing Her

Richard Enjolras, Sr. awoke promptly at 6:00 am, as he had for as long as he could remember. He got out of his bed, took a shower, and put on a suit, as he always did, before going out to his kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. However, just as the pot finished brewing, he was startled by a knock on his door.

A frown of thought crossed the attorney’s face. No one came knocking on his door at this hour unless it was Felix, and he hadn’t heard from the bootlegger since his last shipment. He straightened his suit as he walked over to his door, opening it after another impatient knock.

The last man he expected was on the doorstep.

“What the hell are you doing here, Thénardier?” he growled. “Don’t think you’ll be able to threaten me into doing what you want.”

“I ain’t here ta threaten ya, sir,” the thief said gruffly. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he leaned in and spoke soflty, giving the attorney a noseful of his horrible breath. “I have somethin’ ta tell ya abou’ yer son. Somethin’ ya may want te know.”

The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed as he stepped away and stared at the criminal. “What about my son?” he asked suspiciously.

Thénardier gave a brief nod towards the living room of the apartment. “Lemme in an’ I’ll tell ya.”

 

As his father was conversing with hers, the younger Enjolras was straightening his suit to go to the courthouse. Éponine was behind him, pulling on a dress. She had insisted on going with him for moral support, even though he had insisted otherwise. Combeferre and Courfeyrac would be meeting them there.

He stared at himself in the mirror, noticing for the first time the tiny lines that had started forming around his eyes. He looked older, more tired. This case hadn’t even begun, and it was already taking its toll on him.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie. “Hey, you awake?” Éponine asked behind him.

He sighed softly, running a hand over his face. “Mostly,” he replied. “I just hope I’ve done enough…”

“Sweetheart, you’ve done everything you can do before you can actually argue your case,” Éponine said softly, taking his shoulders and turning him to face her. “Stop worrying. It won’t accomplish anything.”

Enjolras chuckled softly. “Right again,” he murmured, half to himself, as he gently stroked the outline of her face. “I love you so much, ‘Ponine.”

 

Richard Enjolras, Sr. had never been more furious in his life, and that was quite a statement for a man with a temper like his. His eyes were closed as he tried to reign himself in, fists clenching and unclenching as he made an effort to even out his breathing. “And you’re certain of this?” he whispered.

“Montparnasse ain’t stupid enough ta lie ta me abou’ somethin’ like this,” Thénardier replied in his gruff voice. “An’ ‘e said ‘e saw ‘em wi’ ‘is own eyes.”

The attorney couldn’t contain himself anymore, and he slammed his fists on the table, making the thief jump. “DAMMIT!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I raised a complete and utter fool.”

“Ye ain’t the only one,” Thénardier muttered.

Richard ground his teeth together as he seethed. “We have to do something about this. There’s no question of that. But what…?” he let his thoughts trail off as he wondered. It was still difficult for him to wrap his brain around the thought of his son – _his son_ – sleeping with that whore, but at the same time, he should have known his son would be stupid enough to do so. He was blinded by what he thought was “love,” and he had to be disenchanted as soon as possible.

“‘Ow violent do ye want it to be?” Thénardier asked with a gleam in his eye. “I ‘ave men tha’ can take care of both of ‘em fer us. An’ it won’ cost ya nothin’ if I tell ‘em I wan’ it done.”

That was when an evil gleam came to the attorney’s eye, and the most wicked, knowing smile spread across his lips.

 

Enjolras and Éponine made it to the courthouse in a matter of minutes. She held his hand as they walked up the steps; she could tell he was incredibly nervous. His breath was shaky in her ear, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze in comfort. “It’s going to be okay, dear,” she murmured softly. “You’re prepared. You’ve done what you need to do.”

He took a deep breath as they approached the front doors, trying to keep from shaking too badly. “You’d best wait out here. I think my father is closing your father’s trial today; I don’t want to risk either of them seeing you,” he said.

Éponine opened her mouth to protest, before she looked deeper into his eyes. He looked so much older, more tired, than he should have. It was clear that for his own peace of mind, she needed to stay outside. So she closed her mouth and nodded. “I’ll be right out here,” she promised.

A small smile crossed her sweetheart’s face. “Thank you,” he murmured, embracing her and kissing her temple gently. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Do what you have to do to keep Judge Gray off the bench,” Éponine whispered in his ear. “I don’t care what it is.”

Enjolras’ face grew solemn as he nodded. “I love you, Éponine.”

“I love you, too, Enjolras,” she murmured softly. She watched him go up the rest of the steps, take another deep breath, and open the door to the courthouse. The reality of what her boyfriend was doing was really setting in for her, and her heart started to quiver in fear.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice behind her interrupted her thoughts. “Wha’s my brat doin’ ‘ere?”

Éponine clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to turn and face her father. “Go away, Papa. I don’t want to see you.”

“Oh come on, ‘Ponine,” Thénardier insisted, grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her to turn and face him. “Ye don’ want a word wi’ yer own dad?”

She pulled forcefully away. “No, I don’t,” she snapped. “I just said, I don’t want to see you. Please, leave me alone.”

“Oh, now ye got the gall to say please?” he growled.

Éponine’s heart started to race. He was going to back her into a corner before she knew it. _Enjolras, please come back soon…_ “What do you want, Papa?” she snapped. “More importantly, why do you have to accost me in front of the courthouse?”

“Yer boyfriend’s dad is closin’ me trial today,” he said gruffly, spitting out the word “boyfriend” like it were a disease.

Éponine stayed quiet for a moment, letting her defenses fall momentarily. She had never used the term “boyfriend” for Enjolras before. They never really discussed the technicalities and the labeling of their relationship. But Thénardier was quick and he saw her still for a moment.

“Wha’ is it, ‘Ponine? He is yer _boyfriend_ , ain’t ‘e now?” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Still don’t give ya the right to give ‘im a free go whenever ‘e wants!”

“Enough, Papa!” she barked angrily, surprised at her own force. She took a deep breath before she spoke again. “We’ll discuss this later. I’ll come down to the base and meet you there, if you want.”

Thénardier made a face that could almost be described as pouting, but he knew it was the best deal he was going to get. “Alrigh’, have it yer way,” he muttered angrily. “Tonight, 9:00 sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, already dreading the meeting as her father hurried away. Éponine immediately turned to face the courthouse again, struggling to catch her breath and putting a shaking hand to her forehead. Was she a _complete_ and total idiot? What the hell was she thinking, arranging a meeting with her father behind the back of the man she loved? He would be furious if he found out…

_Wait, that’s acting like you’re going to keep this from him._

_Well, is telling him a really good idea?_

Enjolras’ approaching footsteps jerked her out of her mental debate. “Okay,” he said with a deep breath. “They took the case, and I’m keeping Judge Gray off the bench no matter what it takes.”

Éponine nodded absentmindedly. “Good, good,” she muttered.

He could tell immediately that something wasn’t right. “Éponine? Are you unwell?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

She took a deep breath. _Well, are you going to tell him or not, ‘Ponine?_ “It’s nothing; I’m fine. I…I just haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights.”

Enjolras nodded sympathetically. “I’d been thinking you seemed restless in the night. Come on, let’s go home so you can get some rest,” he encouraged, looping an arm around her waist. Éponine gently leaned her head on his shoulder, trying not to think about what would happen that night.

 

“Will the defendant please rise?” Judge Roberts asked stoically from the bench.

Thénardier and his lawyer both stood at the judge’s command. The lawyer stood straight in his pristine suit, Thénardier slumped to the left side, seeming not to care at all about the proceedings.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

A single juryman was standing. “We have, Your Honor.”

“On the first indictment of theft, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant, Auguste Thénardier, guilty.”

He tried not to swear. That was going to be at least a few weeks in the slammer, and he had a big bootlegging deal coming up. It was going to be very difficult to run if he was in jail.

“On the second indictment of theft, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant guilty.”

The irritation mounted in his heart as the same was read for all three counts of neglect of minors. One for Gavroche, and one each for the twins. He started to do the math in his head – _two weeks fer each theft sentence, an’ three weeks fer each kid – tha’s about –_

Judge Roberts interrupted his thoughts with the answer. “Auguste Thénardier, I hereby sentence you to 13 weeks in prison. You will be released on October 4th. Court is adjourned,” he concluded, banging the gavel once.

_13 weeks…tha’s 4 months!_

As Thénardier was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs, he looked over his shoulder at the prosecutor, who gave him one single nod.

The thief only grinned. Their plan was on.

 

Nightfall came. Éponine had been watching the clock like a hawk all day; she knew exactly when she needed to leave for the Patron-Minette base to make it there by 9:00. Enjolras had been able to tell that something else was wrong from the moment they got home, and as Éponine had predicted, he was less than thrilled when she told him what she’d agreed to do.

The minute hand rose up to 8:45, and his clock chimed three-quarters of its little tune. _Time to go._ She stood up from the couch and took a deep breath. “Alright, wish me luck,” she said to Enjolras. “Don’t answer the phone or the door while I’m gone. My father might try to send someone here while I’m out of the way.”

With a quiet sigh, he crossed the room to her and held her tightly. Éponine hugged him back, letting his strength fortify her heart. “Be careful,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiled, kissing his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With a sad smile, Éponine gradually released him and walked out the door. Immediately, she looked down and let her feet take her back to where she grew up on the bad side of town.

It took her less time than she expected to get to the base; she was actually outside the door less than 10 minutes after leaving Enjolras’ apartment. With a deep breath, she knocked commandingly on the door 3 times, calling out “Papa, it’s me.”

She saw an eye in the peephole, before her father opened the door. “Come in,” he grunted roughly. “Make it quick; I got ta be back in me cell befor’ they notice I’m gone.”

Éponine rolled her eyes. _Figures._ “What did you want, Papa?”

“I wanna talk to ye about’ yer boyfriend,” he said, again with quite a sour face on the last word.

Éponine bit her tongue to keep down an angry retort, before she realized something. “Wait a minute…how did you find out about us in the first place?” she asked suspiciously.

“That would be where I come in,” a smooth voice said behind Thénardier as Montparnasse stepped out of the shadows. “Claquesous and I have been watching you for several weeks now. Tell me, ‘Ponine, how long did it take for you to convince him to nail you?” he asked, only a hint of bitterness in his tone.

She could only gape incredulously at the man she used to call a friend. “How could you, Papa?!” she shrieked.

“If ye hadn’t had the gall te start shaggin’ a demn lawyer, we wouldn’a ‘ad this problem!” her father barked. “I had ta keep an eye on ya somehow. ‘Parnasse an’ Claquesous volunteered.”

“I can’t believe this,” Éponine muttered under her breath. “Actually, I can. You’re too controlling for your own good, Papa.”

She only had to wait a split second for the slap she knew would come. “Don’t ya dare talk ta me that way, ya stupid girl!” her father shouted. “I’m yer father, have a mite of respect!”

“Not when you treat me like this!” she shouted.

Montparnasse snorted from the other side of the room. “Hear that, Auguste? She wants _respect,”_ he drawled. “Listen to yourself, Éponine. You’re a petulant child.”

“Watch what you say, ‘Parnasse,” Éponine whispered dangerously.

Thénardier laughed at her again. “When are ye gonna quit bein’ so naïve? I heard from me friends down at the courthouse today tha’ yer boyfriend is plannin’ ta blackmail whoever ‘e has to ta keep the judge ‘e doesn’t want off ‘is case.”

Her eyes widened. “No…he wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“Oh, ‘e would,” her father whispered maliciously. “Just when ye think ye know someone, they change. Yer never gonna get away from criminals, ‘Ponine.”

That was he last straw for her. With a vicious force that took all her might, Éponine lashed out and slapped her father full across the face, actually making him stumble and swear as he clutched his face. “Listen to me, and listen well,” she snarled. “You may be the reason I’m alive today, but that gives you no right to control me the way you do. I am a grown woman, with my own mind, my own thoughts, my own opinions, and my own choices to make. I am an individual, separate from you and completely equal to you, if not above you in every way. I love Enjolras more than life itself, and I will not let you talk him down to your level. He was right about both of you – you are nothing more than scum. I deserve so much better.”

For a few seconds that took an eternity to pass, both Montparnasse and Thénardier were too shocked to say anything. When Thénardier finally regained control of himself, he only said five words, in the deadliest whisper Éponine had ever heard.

“Ye watch yer back, girl.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be turning it on you,” she whispered coldly, before promptly turning on her heel and heading home.

 

For as long as he could remember, Enjolras had a bad habit of pacing when he got worried. He couldn’t help it; it was the only way to keep his mind off of whatever was worrying him.

But when it came to Éponine, nothing helped. He had tried a quick drink, music on the radio, reading Kierkegaard – nothing was working. He was so worried about her going to see her father that he couldn’t contain it. He knew he wasn’t going to change her mind about going, but he didn’t like the situation. So he prayed and paced the apartment.

Finally, the sound of a key in the latch, and there she was.

“Éponine!” he said, embracing her tightly as soon as she closed and locked the door. “Thank goodness you’re alright. I was so worried.”

She gave him a gentle squeeze. “No need to worry about me, love,” she murmured into his chest. “I finally gave him a piece of my mind, and it felt so good.”

Enjolras chuckled and kissed her brow. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

They stood like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes and embracing each other, before a loud, insistent banging on the door interrupted their peace.

“ÉPONINE!”


	19. Protecting Her

Her face went stark white as she stared in fear at the door. “Éponine, do you know who it is?” Enjolras asked urgently.

“I think it’s Brujon and Babet,” she answered, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “The voice is definitely Brujon. He typically takes Babet with him whenever he has to…”

The pounding on the door resumed, making her flinch. “ÉPONINE! OPEN THE DOOR, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

“Whenever he has to what, Éponine?” Enjolras whispered.

She bit her lip. “Kill someone.”

Enjolras’ stomach dropped. Her own father meant to kill her. “Éponine, listen to me,” he said, clutching her shoulders and standing between her and the door. “As long as I’m breathing, _I will not let them touch you._ You’re going to be alright, I promise you. Okay?” Éponine nodded, clearly holding back tears, and Enjolras kissed her forehead reassuringly. “Should I open the door?”

“Let me get out of sight first,” she answered, stumbling out of the room before she even finished her sentence. Enjolras waited for her to nod as she slipped into the dark bedroom before he slowly unlocked and opened the door. He did his best to look confused when he saw the strangers on his doorstep.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” he asked as politely as he could. All he really wanted was to beat them to a pulp, but he forced himself to resist. _For Éponine’s sake._

“Cut the crap, pretty boy, we know she’s ‘ere,” Babet snapped.

“What’s it to you?” Enjolras asked testily. “You’re not going to get her back as long as I’m alive.”

Brujon chuckled. “We can take care o’ tha’ just as easy. But if ya give ‘er to us, everybody lives.”

Enjolras grit his teeth. “You’re not going anywhere near her.”

“Yes we are,” Babet snapped, as he and Brujon simultaneously pushed past Enjolras into the living room. “Search the place, Brujon.”

Enjolras tried to look calm, even though his heart was pounding. _Éponine, stay out of sight…just do something,_ he pleaded, almost hoping she would be able to hear his thoughts. “You won’t find her, she’s not here,” he said a little louder than he needed to. Hopefully, that would do the trick and let Éponine know they were looking.

Babet laughed, and the sound chilled Enjolras to the bone. “Why do I get the feelin’ yer lyin’ ta me?” he asked coldly.

Enjolras tried not to look back at the bedroom, knowing that would give her away. “I’m not,” he said coolly. “She’s not here. And if you were smart enough to believe me, you’d scamper back to your boss and tell him his daughter’s not coming back.”

Éponine could hear everything from the bedroom, and it was hard for her to breathe quietly, with all the fear inside her. She could see Brujon’s massive frame go past the door a few times, and she tried not to shake with fear. _They’re going to come in here eventually…they’re going to find me…oh God, what’s going to happen?_

_Calm down, ‘Ponine! Go out to the fire escape; Brujon and Babet are both too dumb to look there. Just long enough for them to go away, and then you can run back to Enjolras…_

Gradually, she calmed down enough to walk over to the window. _Just long enough for them to go away…_ she reassured herself, repeating it over and over like a mantra. _Just long enough for them to go away…_

She raised her shaking hands to the latch, trying to breathe deeply and calm down, to no avail. _Just long enough for them to go away…_

_CRASH!_

Éponine had failed to notice the lamp next to the window until her shaking hand had knocked it down. Her heart dropped into her stomach. They would know right where she was now.

“Brujon! Bedroom!” She heard Babet shout.

The lights came on, and she could see their faces – greedy, angry, and ready to kill her.

She screamed.

“ÉPONINE!”

Barely seconds later, Enjolras was in the room as well. He pulled a small pistol from his jacket and firmly pressed it against the back of Babet’s head. “Don’t take another step, or I pull this trigger,” he hissed, cocking the gun and keeping a hold on Babet’s shoulder to keep his head against the gun. “Either of you. Move towards her, and you die.”

Éponine was plastered into the corner next to the window, shaking like a leaf and trying not to cry. Brujon chuckled evilly as he looked at Enjolras. “What, you don’t have the balls to kill me?” he taunted. “What are you, _Mr._ Enjolras? Just another rich pretty boy who can talk big and never do anything he says he can?”

Enjolras roared in anger, half-throwing Babet into Brujon’s massive chest. The two of them tumbled to the ground, and Enjolras immediately took advantage of he situation. He leaped on top of the two of them, pressing his knees into Babet’s back, and firmly held the gun to the place where their skulls met. “Get. Out,” he hissed. “And don’t try to come back.”

The air was thick with tension, before Brujon’s muffled voice sounded from the ground. “Let’s go, Babet,” he grunted. “This lil’ whore ain’ worth the trouble.”

Babet made a face, and almost protested, before he thought better of it. Enjolras stood up, still pointing the gun. They finally walked out of the room; Enjolras followed them, keeping the gun pressed to Babet’s head until they were over the threshold. He promptly slammed the door behind them, bolting it and bringing the chain across.

He heard sobbing from the bedroom, and raced back to where he knew Éponine was. She was wailing by the time he made it to her, pulling her trembling form against his solid one. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, petting her hair. “Shh, don’t cry; I’m right here…you’re fine, you’re alright,” he murmured, intermittently kissing her brow as he whispered sweet nonsense in her ear. “It’s fine; they’re gone. I love you; everything’s okay.”

Finally, her sobs turned to ragged breaths and she was able to relax. Enjolras pulled back a little and squatted in front of her. “What were you trying to do at the window?” he asked gently.

Éponine took a moment to finish composing herself, still gasping for breath. “I…I was trying t-to make it out to th-the f-fire escape…I-I thought if I could h-hide out l-long enough…th-they wouldn’t l-look here and…th-they’d leave…” She hastily wiped her cheeks before she could continue speaking. “When Papa would have me out on the corner…i-it was often Brujon and Babet…they would…” Unable to continue or contain herself any longer, she broke down into fresh tears, burying her face into his chest.

Enjolras sighed sympathetically, pulling her closer to him and squeezing her a little tighter to his chest. “Oh, ‘Ponine…” he whispered, kissing her head. “I’m so sorry…I had no idea.” His right hand was repeatedly stroking her hair; his left arm was locked tightly around her waist and pressing her to him. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – they’re never going to touch you as long as I’m alive. So help me God, I will not let anything happen to you as long as I can help it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she breathed, nodding and wiping her eyes. “I know you will always be there for me.” Her voice was ragged still as she let out her sentence in shallow breaths. “…but don’t do it like that again.”

He frowned. “Like what?”

“That was frightening, Enj…I don’t like seeing you so angry. The way you could have killed them both with one bullet…I don’t want to think about you killing the way they do…and I’m afraid that I might do something wrong, and then you’d be mad at me…”

Horror filled him when he realized how badly he scared her. He was sinking down to Thénardier’s level without even realizing it. “‘Ponine, you have to understand, I would never break the law unless we were in a life or death situation, or if you were in danger. And most importantly,” he said, cradling her face in his hands, “I would never, _ever,_ lay a hand on you that way. You know that, right?” he asked in a small voice.

“I know, I know you’d never…” she trailed off, suppressing a hiccup and not wanting to finish the thought. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose you… _this_ you,” she said, placing a hand on his chest.

Enjolras pulled her even closer and held her tightly. “You never will. That’s a promise.” He found himself repeatedly stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth, pondering everything she’d said. The more he learned about her past, the more determined he was to keep her safe. She was the most important thing in his world now, and he was going to protect her at any cost.

They sat like that for a long time, before Enjolras picked Éponine up and gently putting her in the bed, before he undressed and climbed in beside her. They needed rest. They’d had a long day, and there were more to come.

 

Morning came all too soon. The sun rose over Enjolras and Éponine sound asleep, his left hand resting comfortably on her left shoulder blade. Enjolras awoke with a peculiar stiffness in his back, before he remembered the events of the previous night.

He sighed softly, remembering that today was the beginning of his father’s trial. Jury selection had taken place practically overnight; he could only hope that the case had been kept fairly quiet in the press. Of course, nothing was certain.

Enjolras lay awake in the bed for a few minutes, just breathing next to Éponine. He didn’t want to get up; he didn’t want to go. He allowed himself a brief moment of self-pity, before he finally took a deep breath and extricated himself from the warm bed and started to get ready for the day. Mechanically, he got a black suit out of the closet, pairing it with a white shirt and black tie. He splashed some cold water on his face to wake up before he got dressed as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Éponine.

As he straightened his tie in the mirror, he took a moment to look at his face. There were dark bags under his eyes, which looked tired and heavy. Small lines were appearing around the corners of his eyes. He was certainly a different man than he had been before this case. Fantine had asked a lot of him, and he hoped that he would be able to accomplish what she needed. Cosette had let him know when Fantine was released from the hospital; apparently she was ready to testify.

He picked up his briefcase, ready to leave for the courthouse, when a voice stopped him at the door.

“Good luck today,” Éponine murmured tiredly from the bed.

Enjolras turned around when he heard her speak, and smiled when he saw her looking at him. He crossed the room to her and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’ll let you know how everything goes,” he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked when she was only half-awake, her hair falling in her face. “I love you.”

“I love you too. You’re ready for this. Don’t forget that.”

He smiled gently. “I won’t, I promise.” He kissed her once, murmuring, “Go back to sleep, love.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on coming and getting in a shouting match with your father in public,” she yawned, turning over in the bed.

Enjolras chuckled, checking his pocketwatch. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be home soon. Get some sleep.”

 

As he drove to the courthouse, he could hardly keep his emotions in check. His heart was pounding, his mouth was going dry, his hands were clamming up. However, his subtle blackmail had worked the previous morning. He’d gotten Eric McDonald, who was somewhat inexperienced, but a much more ethical man that Michael Gray. So far, it was Enjolras’ one comfort in this case.

He pulled up at the courthouse and turned off his car, straightening his suit as he got out of the car. A surprise was waiting for him as he went up the courthouse steps – Combeferre stood about halfway up the staircase, wearing a suit identical to his and also holding a briefcase. Enjolras frowned; he knew his best friend was up to something. “What are you doing here, ‘Ferre?” Enjolras asked, not unkindly, as he approached his friend.

“I know the case is today…” he said a little tentatively. “I figured you could use some help.” Enjolras grunted and went to walk past him, but Combeferre stopped him with a hand on his chest. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone, Richard,” the man said quietly; Enjolras knew he was serious when he called him by his first name. “I want to help you. Please let me.”

Enjolras eyed the man in front of him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright,” he said softly. “I could use the support.”

Combeferre noticeably relaxed and nodded, before the two men started walking to the courthouse together. “Have you heard from Fantine?” he asked in a low voice as they waded through the crowd of suits in the huge lobby of the building.

“‘Sette called the other day to let me know that she had been released from the hospital,” Enjolras said in an equally low tone. “She should ready to testify any day now.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “‘Sette, huh?” He grinned. “You must enjoy having a sister.”

Enjolras grinned back. “Every single minute. I always wanted a younger sibling when I was a kid, especially after Mother died…” he trailed off a little, lost in thought. “I guess God decided I wasn’t ready for a sibling until now.”

The two men then caught sight of Enjolras, Sr., who had entered the room alongside another gentleman in a suit. They assumed he’d found an attorney. Father and son locked eyes, and the tension in the room was instantly palpable. It was as if they were two lions, dueling for dominance of the courtroom. They each gave the other a long fixed stare, as if sizing him up before the impending battle.

Combeferre placed a comforting hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “We can do this, Richard,” he said softly. “We can take him down.”

Enjolras nodded to the man’s words without looking at him. “Thank you, John.”

 

He had hardly blinked before they were walking into the preliminary hearing. The purpose of this was for his father to put in a plea, for bail to be set, and for Enjolras to make his opening arguments against his father, which was going to be the hard part. He’d been working on preparing his thoughts for well over three weeks, but now that it was time to deliver them, he was suddenly overcome with nerves and…was that fear he felt?

He must have been shaking, because he noticed Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder again as they entered the courtroom. “It’s going to be alright, Richard. You can do this.”

Enjolras managed a feeble smile as he set down his briefcase. “It’s nice to know someone still has faith in me.”

As he spoke, he remembered Éponine saying those same words to him when they ate dinner at his apartment before they went to see the Firebird with his father. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the haunting melody of the Lullaby echoed in his mind. He remembered sitting in the concert hall between Éponine and his father, her excitability at every moment, and the way his father had insulted her at the end of the night. His anger sparked again, he snapped his briefcase open and took out his opening argument papers, reviewing them once more.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Combeferre asked over his shoulder as he set down a briefcase as well.

Enjolras tried not to snort in his best friend’s face. “Am I sure? No way in hell. But can I handle this? I think I can.”

They were interrupted by the doors of the courtroom opening, and the entrance of Enjolras, Sr., his attorney, and the judge. “All rise for the Honorable Eric McDonald,” the bailiff’s commanding voice rang around the courtroom. Enjolras’ father and his attorney made their way to their appointed bench as Judge McDonald sat at the front. “Be seated and come to order,” the bailiff said as everyone sat.

“At this time, we will hear the opening statements, starting with the defense,” Judge McDonald declared from the bench. “Mr. Johnson, you may proceed when you are ready.”

His father’s attorney stood up from the bench, puffing out his chest a little pompously as he began. “Gentlemen of the jury, we are here to prove that these unjust allegations against my client, Richard Enjolras, Sr., are false in every way. He has always been an upstanding man in our New York community, and at the time of these alleged incidents, he could barely support his own family. His wife had become despondent. Trips to her doctors were costly, and he had his young son to think of – the son prosecuting him today.”

Enjolras tried not to bristle as Mr. Johnson paused. “Gentlemen, my client is completely innocent, and you will see that the evidence points to that.” He walked back to the bench and sat down next to Enjolras, Sr., still looking rather proud of himself. It made Enjolras’ blood boil that he had to go up against _that_.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” Judge McDonald spoke again. “Mr. Enjolras, you may proceed when you are ready.”

Enjolras stood up and walked out in front of the bench, keeping his eyes down. This was the moment of truth.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice shaking, but gradually gaining confidence. “On September 17, 1903, that man,” he pointed, “Richard Enjolras, Sr., broke his wedding vows and went to the bed of a woman who was not his wife. As luck would have it, he produced a child from that brief union. That child – his daughter – grew up in extreme poverty, without a father, not knowing why he refused to meet her. Why he renounced her and refused to financially support her mother for 28 years; something any man with even a shred of dignity would feel honor-bound to do. That man, Richard Enjolras, Sr., ignored his duty to his family, and to the law.”

Enjolras paused to let that sink into their minds, the way he learned in law school. “Would you let a man like that walk away from here unpunished?” he asked softly, his eyes looking over each of the men before him in turn. “Gentlemen, we are here to prove that Richard Enjolras, Sr. is guilty of the aforementioned crimes, and that he will pay the price for them.” With nothing else to say, he walked back to the bench for the prosecution and took a seat beside his best friend.

“Thank you, Mr. Enjolras,” Judge McDonald said, turning to the defense. “Mr. Enjolras, Sr., how do you plead?”

 _“Not_ guilty, Your Honor,” the older man said pointedly, shooting a dirty look at his son across the aisle. However, the younger man simply clenched his jaw and ignored his father’s stare. He _would not_ let his father get to him now.

Judge McDonald smiled tightly. “We’ll let the jury determine that,” he said. “I set your bail at $20,000. The hearing is now adjourned,” he said, banging the gavel.

Enjolras and Combeferre started to gather up their papers as the courtroom slowly emptied, people idly chatting in low voices. Enjolras swallowed hard in an attempt to clam his racing heart; he couldn’t believe that this case was actually unfolding. He had talked about it for so long, but actually going through with it was something else entirely. He found that he was terrified of what would happen. “So what now?” he murmured to Combeferre out of the side of his mouth.

“We go back to your apartment and make a case,” he answered dryly.

The other man chuckled softly, picking up his briefcase. “I suppose I could ask Éponine to cook for the three of us again tonight. I’ll ask her when I get home.”

“Still got that harlot of yours in your apartment, then?” Enjolras heard his father call out loudly as they were leaving the courtroom. “Don’t think I approve of her, son.”

He stopped in his tracks, clenching his teeth and free fist, trying to resist the urge to punch his father square in the face. Combeferre leaned over to murmur in his ear, “Don’t do it, Richard. He’s not worth it. Think of Éponine.”

Enjolras’ breathing gradually slowed down as he and Combeferre left the courtroom. “So I’ll see you for dinner tonight?” the latter asked once they were walking down the steps.

“I’ll give you a call,” the former replied, stepping into his car to drive back to his apartment.

Combeferre nodded. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Enjolras nodded back. “Thank you for all your help, John.”

 

Enjolras was in for an unpleasant surprise when he walked up the steps to his apartment. A newspaper was sitting on his porch, with an enormous headline in all capital letters and bold print.

 

**ENJOLRAS VS. ENJOLRAS**

**SON PROSECUTES FATHER IN CASE ALMOST 30 YEARS OLD**

He clenched the paper in his fist, which started to shake from the force of his grip. This was outrageous. The _last_ thing he needed was bad press. With more force than was necessary, he unlocked the front door of his apartment and stormed in.

“Enj? Is that you?” he heard Éponine calling. “What hap – what’s that in your hand?” she asked.

Enjolras slammed the paper down on the table, the loud headline facing up. “Read,” he said gruffly.

Frowning, Éponine picked up the paper, her face immediately changing as she started to read the article. “What the…? Enjolras, have you read any of this? It’s pure slander.”

“I’m sure,” he muttered through tightly clenched teeth. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Can Combeferre join us for dinner? He and I plan to work more on the case tonight.”

Éponine nodded. “Of course.”

Enjolras nodded his thanks to her. “I’ll give him a call, then. What time should we have dinner?”

“I was thinking 6:30,” she said, making her way to the kitchen.

“That should work.”

 

True to her prediction, dinner and Combeferre were at the table by 6:30. Éponine could tell that Enjolras was still angry at the article in the paper, but Combeferre seemed to be oblivious.

“Did you get a chance to take a look at the newspapers today?” she asked him quietly.

‘Ferre seemed confused. “No, should I have?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Enjolras answered through gritted teeth. She could tell he was trying to keep a hold of his temper, and having a difficult time of it.

“I can’t believe what they’re saying…look at this,” he said, picking up from where it sat on the kitchen table. “ _‘In a shocking hearing this morning, Richard Enjolras, Jr. has brought a case against his father to the courts that is almost as old as he is,’_ ” he read aloud. “Why the hell do they feel the need to say that?”

“One can only imagine,” Éponine muttered in reply.

Combeferre opened another page of the article, a frown marring his features. “Good Lord, it gets worse,” he muttered. “They just go on and on for pages about how you’re just doing this for the money.”

“What?” Éponine asked incredulously. She had only glanced at the paper, not really reading through the entire article. It had made her too angry to concentrate.

Enjolras gave a low grunt that Combeferre obviously did not hear, or if he did, he chose to ignore. He began reading, “ _‘Many speculate that Enjolras Jr. would have much to gain from his father’s imprisonment. Investigations show that once imprisoned, Enjolras Sr. would lose his home in his name, along with his family car and all of his investments which would therefore be then transferred to his next of kin – his only son.’_ Enjolras, can you believe they had the nerve to go through your personal finances? How else would they know this?”

Enjolras didn’t reply as he ground his teeth together before he forced himself to take another bite of his meal. Éponine watched him out of the corner of her eye as she stayed silent in the rising tension.

“Oh, God,” Combeferre prattled on, “then they say that if it is not money reasons that you are doing this for it's because of a _‘brewing romance with Cosette Tholomyés. The couple has been seen together recently “embracing,” and it is speculated that he may force his father’s imprisonment for her protection and their mutual – ’_ ”

“ENOUGH!” Enjolras shouted, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. “I don’t need to be constantly reminded of the slander out there, or the fact that all of New York is against me in this case! I’m trying hard enough to do the right thing; I don’t need your reminders of what I’m facing! WHERE DOES IT END?!”

Suddenly, not a sound could be heard in the small apartment. Éponine was cringing away from him in clear terror; she looked as though she were expecting a blow. Combeferre was staring open-mouthed at his best friend’s outburst. Enjolras continued to breathe heavily in anger for a brief moment before he managed to collect himself enough to sit down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry…” he said softly, guiltily. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. It’s just…” he sighed heavily. He looked over to Éponine, who was looking at him with frightened eyes and still shielding herself with one hand. “Éponine,” he murmured softly, taking one in his own and stroking the backs of her knuckles with his thumb, “You know I would never lay a hand on you, my love. No matter how mad I get. That’s a promise.”

“I…I’m so sorry, Enjolras…” Combeferre said softly. “I didn’t want to make you angry, I was just – ”

Enjolras held up a hand to stop his best friend. “There’s no need for you to apologize, ‘Ferre. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” He paused. “Neither of you deserves that,” he added quietly.

The rest of the meal passed in an awkward silence, everyone at the table staring down at their plates and eating mechanically. Éponine was still visibly shaken, and Enjolras was cursing himself for it. How could he have such an outburst when he knew the kinds of men she’d already had in her life? Men like her father, like Montparnasse?

 _No. Stop,_ he chided himself. _You are not like those men. You got her out of there._

Dinner soon ended, they said their goodbyes to Combeferre, and Enjolras shut the door behind him as he left. He paused for a moment, letting his forehead fall against the door as he breathed heavily.

“Don’t work yourself up over this too much, love,” Éponine’s voice said quietly, soothingly, behind him. A moment later, he felt her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve put so much of yourself into this case; it’s okay to get frustrated.”

“But not like this,” Enjolras said softly. “This case, Éponine…it’s making me someone I’m not. What if…what if I end up becoming exactly like the man I’m trying to put away? To prove guilty? I don’t want to be like him,” he said in a small voice. He felt a gentle rub on his shoulder.

“Look at me, love,” she said softly. “Please.”

Enjolras paused for just a moment, before turning around to face her. Éponine gently cradled his face in her hands and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “You are not like your father. Believe me,” she said quietly. “You will never be like your father, or my father, or Montparnasse. You are not like them. You never could be.”

Gently, Enjolras placed his cheek on the top of her head as he pulled her into his chest. “I love you so much,” he murmured softly. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”


	20. Sheltering Her

Grantaire put the key into his apartment lock, sighing softly under his breath. Enjolras had put his father on trial that morning, and he knew it was not going to be a pretty case for the next few weeks. He worried for his friend – he knew that Enjolras had Éponine to take care of him, but all the same, he would catch himself being nervous about Enjolras’ mental health.

“Alan?” He heard Azelma’s voice called from inside the apartment. “Is that you, love?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” he answered loudly, shutting the door behind him. “How was your day?”

She rounded the corner towards the door as she spoke. “It was fine. Have you seen the papers today?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Grantaire frowned. “No, what’s happened?”

“Here,” Azelma answered, handing him the front page of that morning’s paper. “I think that headline will say more than I could.”

Frowning, Grantaire took it from her and started to read, slowly setting down his coat. “What…?” he murmured as he read, slowly walking towards the kitchen as he carried it. “This is ridiculous; they’re slandering him for no reason!”

Azelma nodded. “I can’t imagine why, though…he’s doing the right thing, isn’t he?”

“The papers are making a big show of the fact that it’s a case of son vs. father. It’s disgusting,” Grantaire grumbled, setting the paper down on the coffee table and running his hands over his face as he plopped down on the sofa. “I worry about him sometimes, ‘Zelma…this case is really hard on him already, and it’s just begun.”

She sat down next to him on the sofa, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Alan. I’m sure of it,” she reassured him, gently rubbing his shoulder blade. “My sister will take good care of him, trust me. She did the same for me and our siblings.”

“I know she will, but…” Grantaire trailed off, sighing softly.

Azelma frowned. “But?”

“I worry about what he may not be telling her. I’ve known Enjolras for several years, and he tends to bottle up his emotions, especially things that may hurt other people. Considering the fact that his father hates her, I think he’d want to keep her from that as much as possible, and he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that his father can’t get to her. He wants to protect her, but I’m afraid it may end up hurting her.”

A bit to his surprise, Azelma chuckled quietly. “If Éponine wants to get it out of him, she will. She has a way of doing that, and believe me, I’d be one to know,” she said.

She brought a smile to Grantaire’s face, as she always did, and he leaned in to gently kiss her. Her lips were warm and soft when they met his, and he let his arm gently curve around her as she kissed him back. “I love you, Azelma,” he murmured between kisses.

“I love you too, Alan,” she answered softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek with a soft smile. “And I’m still so thankful that you stepped up to let me stay here.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “I just wanted to do the right thing…I never imagined how happy it would make me.”

Azelma chuckled quietly. “Neither did I.”

His smile grew a little as he stroked her hair back from her face. “Then…you are happy here? With me?”

“Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” she said.

“Will you marry me?” he blurted out.

Azelma recoiled and jumped up in surprise. “W-what?”

Grantaire suddenly felt frozen, but somehow, the words left his mouth again as he sank to one knee in front of her. “Azelma Thénardier, will you marry me?”

She started to stammer in shock. “A-Alan…are you sure?”

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t be more sure,” he said in the most serious tone she’d ever heard him use as he took her hand. “Look at what we’ve been through together already. We’ve seen good days and bad days, and we’ve come out of all of them stronger than ever. I want to be with you through all of the others that may come. You have enriched my life so much, just by being yourself, and being with me at the end of every day. Marry me, Azelma. Make me the happiest man in the world.”

Azelma was speechless. She couldn’t have seen herself getting engaged to Grantaire so soon, but simultaneously, she felt as though it were the perfect time. She covered her mouth with the hand he wasn’t holding, trying to hold back her tears of joy. “Yes,” she answered, almost laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Unable to form a coherent thought, he got up and enveloped her in his arms, the woman who would soon become his wife. “What did I do to deserve you, Azelma?” he whispered into her hair.

His new fiancée reached up to wipe a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed from his eye. “You loved me,” she answered simply, kissing his lips gently. “You took me in, you gave me all I could have asked for, and more than I could ever dream of having.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “You are my soul mate,” he said softly, holding her face in his hands.

She chuckled softly. “You’re so sappy,” she grinned, kissing his cheek. “But it’s part of what I love about you.”

His own grin grew in response as he kissed her one more time. “Come on, let’s go out to dinner tonight and celebrate. We can invite Enjolras and Éponine to come with us.”

“That sounds perfect,” she grinned back.

 

Éponine was was even more worried for Enjolras now that the trial had actually begun. His face was even more tired and worn, his tone of voice more haggard and harsh. She had thought that if anything, having part of the trial off his shoulders would ease him, but instead had only aggravated his condition.

So when there was a hurried, excited knock at the door, she was a little surprised, to say the least – but even more so when she opened the door to her joyful sister and Grantaire.

“Azelma! Grantaire!” she said, letting her pleasant surprise color her voice. “What brings you two by here?”

“We wanted to go out to dinner tonight,” Grantaire grinned just as broadly as the lady at this side. “We were wondering if you and Enjolras would like to join us. Seems like he needs to get out for a while, anyway.”

“I heard that, Grantaire,” Enjolras called as he walked over to the door. “What’s the occasion?”

Azelma only grinned. “That’s a surprise.”

“Well, I suppose we have no choice but to go to dinner, then,” Enjolras laughed as he looked to Éponine. “What do you say?”

She smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Perfect. Meet us here at 5:30? I can make a reservation for us at the Stork Club.”

“We will!” Azelma grinned excitedly.

 

That night, as they were getting ready to leave the apartment, Éponine suddenly spoke.

“I wonder what this is all about,” she said.

Enjolras looked at her as he straightened his tie. “This dinner?”

She nodded. “I haven’t seen Azelma this happy in a very long time, and it makes me wonder what she’s so happy about.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Enjolras said as he shrugged on his suit jacket, “and that’s to go to dinner. I’m assuming there’s a reason they invited us to go with them.”

Éponine chuckled quietly. “I suppose you’re right. Ready to go?”

Her boyfriend nodded just as there was another knock at the door. Grinning, Éponine opened the door to Azelma and Grantaire. The women hugged fondly, while the men shook hands, Enjolras feeling more cordial towards Grantaire than usual. “Are we ready to go?” he asked, looking around towards the sisters.

Azelma nodded. “I believe we are.”

Enjolras smiled, picking up his car keys. “Then let’s head out. Our reservation is for 6:00.”

The four of them piled into Enjolras’ Model A, Éponine sitting shotgun to Enjolras; Azelma and Grantaire in the back. There was constant laughter and chatter all the way to the restaurant, a drive that seemed to take no time at all. Éponine looped her arm through Enjolras’ as they walked up to the door, Azelma doing the same with Grantaire as the quartet walked in.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Stork Club,” the young gentleman greeted them at the door. “Reservation?”

“Richard Enjolras, Jr., for four,” he said.

He checked his list, looking up and smiling when he saw the name. “Right this way.”

Behind them, Éponine could hear her sister murmuring to Grantaire, but all she could hear was the word “us.” Her interest piqued, she risked a sideways glance over her shoulder at the pair. Azelma blushed when they made eye contact, and Éponine raised an eyebrow at her sister.

The younger woman merely grinned at her, the same mischievous grin that Éponine had seen since they were children. Azelma was going to stay tight-lipped for as long as she wanted, Éponine knew.

Soon, they were seated at a table close to the middle of the room, neighboring another small party in suits. Enjolras thought he recognized one of the men, but the ever-present smoky haze in the main room made it hard for him to tell. “Now, what will you all have to drink?” he asked.

“Just a water for me,” Enjolras said.

“And me,” Éponine echoed.

Azelma took a quick look at Grantaire. “Water all around,” she chuckled.

A small smile crossed the waiter’s face. “I’ll have those right over,” he said, walking way.

As soon as he was gone, Éponine grabbed her sister’s wrist. “Come on, ‘Zelma, tell us what’s going on! I’m dying to know!”

Azelma grinned ear to ear, before looking to the man sitting next to her. “Alan, should we tell them?”

Grantaire chuckled. “Oh, I think it would be too cruel to make them wait for the news any longer.”

Even Enjolras was leaning in towards them now, intrigued by the conversation. He’d been suspecting that something had been going on between them since the day he and the rest of the _Amis_ had been teasing him at the Café…now was to see if he was right.

“Well, Alan asked me to marry him this afternoon…” Azelma started slowly; her sister’s jaw was already agape. “And I said yes!”

Éponine barely contained a squeal of delight, and only because they were in a very high-end restaurant. However, she did dash around to the other side of the table to tightly hug her sister. “Oh God, that’s brilliant! I’m so happy for you!” she said, also embracing her future brother-in-law.

“Dinner’s on me, lovebirds,” Enjolras grinned, shaking Grantaire’s hand and embracing Azelma. “Congratulations!”

A look of pleasantly surprised shock crossed their faces. “Oh, Enjolras, you don’t have to – ” Azelma started to say, before he held up a hand to stop her. “I want to,” he assured her with a smile.

The rest of the dinner passed with much laughter amongst the four of them, Éponine and her sister already gushing over the details of the wedding, while Grantaire and Enjolras mainly spectated, occasionally chuckling at their enthusiasm.

Enjolras, however, turned his head at exactly the wrong time, and promptly made eye contact with his father.

His stomach dropped, but he kept a strong front as their gazes locked. Grantaire followed suit, his face clearly hardening. Éponine looked over at Enjolras to ask his opinion on something, before she saw the man walking towards the table and simply held onto his elbow.

“Richard,” the older man greeted his son coldly.

“Father,” the younger replied, not even with a nod.

He surveyed the small party at the table with clear indignation on his face. “Care to introduce me to your…friends?” he asked icily.

Enjolras grit his teeth. “Grantaire, Azelma, meet my father.”

His father’s eyes darted between the two sisters just briefly. “I know there are men out there who enjoy two sisters at once…” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be one of them, Richard.”

Now, even his patient temperament had had enough. Enjolras stood up with a mind to slap his father across the face, but Éponine caught his arm. “Don’t,” she said quietly. Still fuming, he sat back down.

“I’ll see you tomorrow back in court, son,” Enjolras, Sr. said.

“I’ll be counting down the hours,” he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

The happy mood returned once the two couples piled back into Enjolras’ car and the sisters started gushing over what kind of ring Azelma and Grantaire should pick out. However, once Enjolras and Éponine had dropped off Azelma and Grantaire at their apartment, his somber visage returned. She sighed softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t fret about it, my love,” she said gently, rubbing his jacket. “You can’t let him get to you.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Éponine,” he said heavily. “The headlines on this case are getting worse day by day, and soon they’re going to start slandering you…my father’s already started.”

She sighed softly, letting her arm wrap around his shoulders, and he turned his head to look at her. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “You’ve got more urgent things on your plate right now than me.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be fruitless to try and argue with her. “Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s just go inside for a nightcap. I could use a drink.”

Éponine nodded, and they got out of the car together, walking up the steps to the apartment. Much to their surprise, a hooded woman was on the doorstep. She turned to face them without taking off her garment, her eyes instantly connecting with Enjolras’.

“Cosette!” he said softly; Éponine heard the urgency in his voice. “Are you alright? Where’s Fantine?”

“I need to talk to you,” she said urgently.

He nodded, opening the door and ushering the two women in ahead of himself. “Can we get you anything, Cosette? A cup of coffee, tea, a glass of wine?” he asked concernedly.

His younger sister removed her hood and gently took a seat on the sofa. “A cup of tea would be nice, thank you,” she said meekly. Éponine promptly walked to the kitchen and started the kettle as Enjolras sat next to his half-sister, taking off his tie. “What brings you here?”

“Our father has found out where I live,” she said fearfully. “I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

Enjolras’ heart dropped. If he’d found out where Cosette’s apartment was, that was certain to spell trouble later on. “Can you go back to your mother?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Papa is his bootlegger; he goes there too much for me to be safe.”

“We have a spare bedroom, if you want to stay with us,” Éponine offered as the kettle whistled from where she stood in the kitchen.

“You don’t think he’d come storming over here?” Enjolras asked. “I’d be putting both of you at risk.”

Éponine chuckled as she set Cosette’s tea down in front of her. “We might be women, but we can look after ourselves, love. Don’t worry.”

Cosette smiled a little, comforted by Éponine’s words as she took a drink of the warm beverage. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble for the two of you, I think I would like to stay here,” she said, still seeming rather shy.

Enjolras smiled, looping his arm around her shoulders. “You’re my sister,” he said softly. “The only sibling I’ve ever had. I’m happy to have you under my roof.”

In a sudden break from her shyness, Cosette threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Richard. I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. I love you.”

He was somewhat shocked, but deeply touched by her words. He hugged her back just as tightly, murmuring in her ear, “I love you too, ‘Sette. You can stay with us for as long as you like.”

 

Éponine and Cosette took the car back to her apartment that night to pick up the things she needed; Cosette wouldn’t stop thanking them all the way home. Her brother always responded the same way – “We’re happy to keep you here. It’s no trouble for us at all. We love you.”

The next morning was another early morning for Enjolras; he was meeting Combeferre at the courthouse at 8:00 am before the next day of the trial began at 8:30. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Éponine as he showered and dressed for the day. _Another black suit, another day of this bullshit,_ he thought bitterly as he cinched up his tie a little tighter.

His eyes fell on Éponine, still sound asleep in bed. Smiling a little, Enjolras knelt next to her for just a moment to watch her sleep – the way a tiny smile tugged at her lips, the rise and fall of her chest with her deep, slow breaths. He placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead as he stood again. He loved her so much.

The drive to the courthouse was mechanical, as it always was. He parked his car in the same spot as always, grabbing his briefcase from the back as he walked up the steps to meet Combeferre. “What do you have for me?” he asked wearily.

“Fantine is coming in today; she’ll be the second witness we question,” he said as they walked through the doors. “The defense may try to assume she intentionally got him drunk to sleep with him, so be aware of that on the cross-examination.”

Enjolras nodded mechanically as they made it into the courtroom. “Who’s before her?”

“Your father.”

He barely contained a groan. “Perfect.”


	21. Questioning Her

The door to the courtroom swung open behind them, making both Enjolras and Combeferre suddenly turn their heads. Mr. Johnson was strutting smugly into the room, as he always did, Enjolras’ father not far behind his attorney. Enjolras’ face hardened, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing as the two men walked to their bench. Father and son made temporary eye contact, broken by the older man when he moved to stand on Mr. Johnson’s other side.

“All rise for the Honorable Eric McDonald,” the bailiff said loudly as the judge entered the room, his long black robes flowing behind him as he walked up to the bench. “Be seated and come to order.”

“This trial is now in session,” Judge McDonald said from the bench. “Mr. Johnson?”

“Your Honor, the defense will now hear the testimony of Mr. Richard Enjolras, Sr.,” the attorney said smugly.

“God, I hate that sleazebag Johnson,” Combeferre muttered as the older man walked over to the bailiff.

“Richard Enjolras, Sr., do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” the man said surely.

“Sit down, please.”

“Do you want to handle this?” Combeferre asked.

“Do I have any other choice?” Enjolras answered quietly as he walked past his best friend out to the no-man’s-land between the judge’s bench and the attorneys. Cold blue eyes stared into blazing ones, and after a look at the mother-daughter pair in the back of the room, the son began his interrogation.

“Mr. Enjolras, can you describe to the jury your relationship with Fantine Tholomyés?” he asked coldly.

His father scoffed. “What relationship? The harlot dragged me into her bed for one night.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Enjolras,” Judge McDonald interjected harshly from the bench.

The older man stiffened at the admonition. “I was not familiar with her prior to the night of September 17, 1903. I had only heard of her in passing, as a rather notorious woman of the night.”

“Can you tell us what happened on the night of September 17, 1903?” his son pressed. Enjolras could tell his father was angry at him, but he also knew that he wouldn’t make a scene in front of a jury. “And please, spare not a single detail.”

Venom filled his father’s eyes as he began to speak. “I was out late that night with my law partner, Mr. Matthew Combeferre. We were working on a murder prosecution.”

“And where were you discussing this case?”

“At the bar of the Martha Washington hotel.”

The younger man raised his eyebrows, looking to the jury. “In the bar of a women’s hotel? Perhaps you were predicting your own future, Mr. Enjolras.”

“Objection!” Mr. Johnson stood up angrily.

“Withdrawn,” the younger Enjolras said in the court reporter’s general direction, still maintaining eye contact with his father. “How long did you and Mr. Combeferre stay at the bar?”

“From 9:00 pm until the early hours of the morning. It was a very involved case.”

“So it would seem,” the younger man said. “Can you remember how much you had to drink that night?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Mr. Johnson said again.

“Overruled,” Judge McDonald replied curtly.

The older man’s face hardened. “Too much.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Enjolras,” Judge McDonald said firmly. “If you continue to answer evasively, I will find you in contempt of court.”

The incredibly angry man adjusted his sitting position. “Truth be told, I don’t remember exactly how much. They had several good beers on tap, and I must have at least sampled all of them.”

Enjolras could tell there was more his father was choosing not to reveal, but decided not to press his luck. “And when you and Mr. Combeferre left the bar, which route did you take towards home?”

“West on 29th Street, going towards West 25th Street. We were both a little too intoxicated to safely drive, so we left Mr. Combeferre’s car outside the hotel.”

“And when did you find Fantine Leblanc Tholomyés?” he asked coldly.

The same venom from earlier returned to his father’s eyes. “At the corner of West 29th and 27th.”

“Did you speak to her at all?”

“No, but she spoke to us.”

“And what did she say?” Enjolras asked tightly. He was getting sick of his father’s evasiveness.

“It’s not my fault that whore roped me in with her sob stories from the gutter,” he snapped. “No good can ever come from the gutter; I taught you that. Any righteous, upstanding man can be manipulated by those harlots; can be led astray to believe their elaborate lies of love and passion. And when he is, then – ”

Before he could interrupt with an angry retort he knew he’d regret later, Enjolras heard the scraping of a chair on the floor as Combeferre stood up behind him. “Objection; irrelevant,” he said testily.

“Sustained,” Judge McDonald answered. “Mr. Enjolras, your personal disputes with your son have no place in my courtroom.”

The older man clearly grew stiff, readjusting his sitting position on the stand, while the younger simply replied, “Thank you, Your Honor,” before turning back to face his father. “Now, you claim that she gave you a ‘sob story’. What. Did. She. Say?”

“As Mr. Combeferre and I were walking by, she called my name. I made the mistake of turning my head, mistaking her voice for that of my wife, Maëlys.” He paused. “I don’t remember much after that…I went inside with Fantine, Mr. Combeferre went home, and the next morning I woke up in her bed.”

Enjolras’ jaw hardened. He had done what he could for now. “Nothing further,” he said stiffly, walking back to sit next to Combeferre as Mr. Johnson stood up.

“Mr. Enjolras, can you tell the jury a bit more about your personal life in the year of 1903?” he asked. Enjolras could feel the smugness radiating off the man’s body; he almost felt ill.

“Well, at that time, Mr. Combeferre and I were just getting our law practice off the ground, my son turned two years old, and my wife stayed home with him.”

“Did she do any other kind of work outside the home?”

“Objection, irrelevant,” Enjolras said curtly.

“Overruled,” Judge McDonald answered.

Richard looked briefly as the judge spoke, then returned his gaze to the lawyer. “No. She only stayed home with Richard.”

“So you were the sole provider for your family?”

“That’s correct.”

Combeferre frowned. “What’s he getting at here?” he muttered in Enjolras’ ear.

“I wish I knew,” his best friend answered through tightly clenched teeth. He was tracking the defense lawyer’s movements like a hawk, as if he could escape at any moment.

“And how were things between you and your wife at this point in your marriage?” he asked.

That made both Enjolras and Combeferre lift their heads. The older man was now stiff on the stand, readjusting his tie in an attempt to act casual. “Maëlys was…not well. After Richard was born…she was never the same. I never understood why. Our marriage had been happy, and now we had a brand new baby…but somehow it wasn’t enough.”

The younger Richard clenched his fists on his knees. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Johnson was going to dissect his parent’s marriage, and the inner workings of his mother’s damaged, tormented mind. _All while blaming me for her melancholia. Her death. He’s going to skew it to be my fault._

“Can you describe to the jury the extent of Mrs. Enjolras’ condition?”

“When we first brought Richard home, it was just constant lethargy. She would get lost in thought and not hear him crying until he was wailing at the top of his tiny lungs. By then, I had usually taken care of whatever he needed. As he got a little older, she started to cry when she was alone, or when she thought I couldn’t hear her. The doctors diagnosed her with melancholia.”

“So you were trying to work and support your family, which included providing for a wife that had lost the will to live?” Mr. Johnson asked, looking to the jury.

“That’s correct,” Mr. Enjolras answered.

“So it was to be expected that you and your law partner would be out late working on a case?” he pressed. “This could have made or broken your law firm, which you needed to survive.”

The older man shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Can you remember exactly what time you left the bar that night?” the attorney asked.

“The closest time I can remember is around 2:30 in the morning,” he said. “It may have been later; it was 30 years ago, and I was rather intoxicated,” he admitted.

“And you said you ran into Fantine at the corner of West 29th and 27th street, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And what happened once you found her?”

The courtroom was tense for a moment as Enjolras, Sr. took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably on the stand. “She started to speak to me. Mr. Combeferre tried to convince her that neither of us were interested in her services that night…but it was clear that he found her quite desirable.”

To his right, Enjolras could see his best friend’s face going stark white. He could tell that Combeferre was shocked; his father had also been one of the most upright men he’d ever known.

Johnson raised his eyebrow. “And yet, you were the one who slept with her? Tell us the exact dialogue that was exchanged. At least, as much as you can remember.”

Both of the novice prosecutors sat up in their seats, exchanging looks as they did so. This would certainly be interesting. Enjolras had to remind himself what breathing felt like; he almost felt ill.

His father straightened up on the stand before he spoke. “The first word she spoke to us was ‘Gentlemen’. I remember that clearly. Mr. Combeferre turned to her first, just to ask her what she wanted. I remember staring at the pavement, not wanting to stop or caring what she said. But then she spoke again.”

“And what did she say?”

“‘I can be her.’ I remember that I turned around to face her, because I was surprised at her words. ‘For me?’ I asked her. She nodded, pointing to my wedding ring,” he said, lifting up his left hand enough to toy with the gold band he still wore on it. “‘I can tell that you love her,’ she said. ‘I can be her, just for the night.’ And then I remember waking up with her, realizing that she wasn’t my wife, and that I’d made a terrible mistake.”

The defense attorney nodded. “Nothing further, Your Honor,” he said, walking back to his desk.

“The court will take a 30 minute recess,” the judge ordered, hitting his gavel, and cueing the dispersion of the crowds. Enjolras pressed his hands to his face. This was going to be a long trial.

“Richard!” a quiet voice hissed at him as he stepped outside the room. He turned and saw the ever brutally thin form that was Fantine. He made sure no one was watching before he stepped over to talk to her. “My daughter, is she safe?”

“You have no need to worry, Fantine. She’s staying with me while hiding from Father,” Enjolras gently assured her. “She came to Éponine and I just last night asking for shelter, which we couldn’t hesitate to grant her.”

Fantine visibly relaxed. “Thank you.”

Enjolras smiled gently; his first smile all day. “Of course.”

 

Combeferre and Enjolras spent the rest of the recess sitting at their bench, speaking in hushed tones about what they had gathered so far, and what they needed to do next.

“The court will resume at this time,” Judge McDonald said firmly, banging the gavel to indicate that the trial had resumed. “Mr. Enjolras and Mr. Combeferre, do you have a witness?”

“Your Honor, the prosecution calls Fantine Tholomyés to the stand,” Enjolras said firmly. “I’ll handle this one,” he murmured to Combeferre.

His best friend nodded. “Good luck,” he said softly as the woman took her oath and sat on the stand.

“Mrs. Tholomyés, do you remember the night of September 17, 1903?” Enjolras asked as formally as he could.

Fantine pulled her shawl around her emaciated shoulders. “As clear as if it were last night, Mr. Enjolras. Where would you like me to begin?”

“The beginning.”

She took a deep breath, clearly gathering her thoughts. “Life was rough for me in those years. I had no money, and no way to find a job. So I sold myself out as a woman of the night. I had no other choice,” she said. “I didn’t want to. I hated it. When I went to church on Sunday mornings, I begged for God’s forgiveness, even though I felt too unclean to even walk through the doors of His house.”

“How long did you have to support yourself this way?”

“Several years. I lost count after about 9 or 10,” she said bitterly.

Enjolras couldn’t help but wince. He figured she’d been a prostitute for a long time if she was still working the streets when he was old enough for his father to tell him who she was, but he hadn’t guessed it was that long. “How long had you been working on the streets by 1903?”

“Only for a couple of years. I started when I was 18; my parents kicked me out of their house not long before. I had just turned 20 by September.”

“So you were attempting to make your living on the streets of New York at only 18 years old?”

“That’s correct.”

Enjolras, Sr. sat with his lawyer at the bench, clearly bristling at every word that came out of Fantine’s mouth. The young prosecutor tried not to smirk as he turned back to Fantine. “But why wait 30 years to pursue justice for you and your daughter?”

“I am dying, Mr. Enjolras. This may be the last thing I do.”

He nodded. “I understand. Now, what do you remember about the night of September 17, 1903?”

Fantine proceeded to tell her gut-wrenching story of that night, mostly corroborating what Enjolras, Sr. had already said. He mostly let her speak, only interrupting her story when he needed a point of clarification.

“…So when I saw them coming, I knew I had a chance to finally get a bit more money together,” she said. “I was destitute.”

“Can you remember the exact words you said to Mr. Enjolras?” the son asked her.

Fantine looked down for a moment, toyed with the edge of her shawl. “He said them,” she murmured softly. “When I saw the look in his eyes, I could tell he was having trouble in his marriage. I know the look of a man who doesn’t truly have his wife; my father was that way for many years.”

Enjolras nodded. “So you offered to take the place of his wife for that night?” he clarified.

“That’s correct.”

“What did he say to Mr. Combeferre once you made the offer?”

“I remember that he hesitated for a moment, then told Mr. Combeferre to relay to his wife that he wouldn’t be going home that night. That he would stay at the office and be back in the morning. I didn’t discover I was with child until a few weeks later.”

Enjolras clenched his jaw. _So he knew what he was doing, and he did it anyway._ “Nothing further, Your Honor,” he said, returning to his seat next to Combeferre.

Just as he expected, Johnson’s cross-examination tried to paint her as the villainous temptress who lured a faithful man from his wife into a bed of sin. Enjolras was fuming the entire time, clenching and unclenching his fists on his knees. The only thing that kept him from flying over the bench in a righteous fury was the fact that it would destroy his case and his reputation, which were both already on shaky ground.

The court adjourned around 1:30, and Enjolras was thankful his stomach hadn’t audibly growled from the lack of nourishment. “What do we do now?” Combeferre asked heavily.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going home for lunch,” Enjolras said dryly. “You’re welcome to come with me and Cosette; I’m sure Éponine wouldn’t mind having you around.”

Combeferre nodded. “Let’s be on our way, then.”

 

“Alright…but don’t you think the blue bridesmaids’ dresses would clash with the purple flowers you want?” Éponine asked unsurely as she took notes. She was on the phone with Azelma, as she had been for the last hour, discussing details of the wedding.

Her sister sighed in frustration. “I don’t think they will if the dresses are the right _shade_ of blue…”

“What about putting the bridesmaids in purple?” Éponine suggested. “Or having pale blue hydrangeas in your bouquet to match those blue dresses you liked?”

“Oh, I could do that!” she exclaimed. “I’ll talk to Cosette and Sylvia and see what they think. Thank you, ‘Ponine!”

She chuckled. “Of course, ‘Zelma. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure! Bye!”

Éponine hung up the phone, chuckling to herself, as she heard a key in the door. She promptly stood up, closing her notebook as Enjolras and Combeferre walked in the door. She went straight to her sweetheart, noticing how tired he was, and gently embraced him as Combeferre and Cosette removed their jackets and shoes. “How was court?” she asked concernedly when Enjolras did the same.

“We’re still on incredibly shaky ground, but I think the judge is on our side,” he said wearily. “The question is, can I convince an entire jury to believe my case?”

“We almost had him nailed on our cross-examination of Fantine, I thought,” Combeferre added. “Even though she corroborated a lot of his story, it was different from her perspective.”

Enjolras nodded. “You’re right. I just don’t know if the jury will listen to her over my father.”

“If you can pull the bits of his journal that work in your favor, you may be able to essentially stack the deck in your favor,” Cosette suggested. “Which, I realize, seems like cheating, but this _is_ law.”

Éponine was about to chip in when the growl of Enjolras’ stomach interrupted her. “You didn’t eat this morning, did you?” she asked in a semi-chiding tone. “Come on; I’ll make you some lunch,” she said, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

The four of them continued to discuss the case briefly, until the kettle boiled for tea. Talk gradually shifted to Azelma and Grantaire, and to the planning of their wedding.

“Do you think he’ll ask Marius to be one of his groomsmen?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m not sure. No one’s heard much from Marius lately; which means he’s either retreating into his studies, or he’s met a girl,” Combeferre said. “Apparently, that was what happened when he got into his last relationship back home.”

Across the table, Éponine noticed Cosette looking down, in a vain attempt to hide a furious blush. “Cosette?” she asked almost teasingly. “Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Both men followed her gaze as the young girl’s blush deepened, no matter how she tried to fight it. “You haven’t been talking to Marius, have you?” Combeferre asked incredulously.

“Come on, ‘Ferre; that look says it all,” Éponine laughed. “How long has this been going on, Cosette?”

“Only a couple of weeks,” she said. “I ran into him – quite literally – when I was running errands at the grocery store, and as we were picking everything up, we started a conversation.”

Enjolras looked at her. “A couple of weeks?” he asked. “And you didn’t tell _me_?” he added in mock offense.

Cosette laughed. “Forgive me, Richard; I suppose I should have informed my big brother of the goings-on,” she said. “Anyway, we saw each other a few days later in the park, and…we’ve been meeting up regularly ever since,” she blushed. “He’s very sweet. I do like him.”

“He’s a good man,” Enjolras confirmed with a nod. “All the same, I have to look out for my baby sister when it comes to these kinds of things,” he joked, putting an arm around her shoulders and bringing her in for a half-hug. “Though I will admit, ‘Sette; you could have done much worse.”

She hugged him back. “I suppose I could have, Rich.”

“Finally coming up with a nickname for me?” he laughed. “Don’t worry; I approve.”

Cosette grinned up at her big brother. “I’m glad.”

The rest of the dinner continued on without much event. After the three of them said their goodbyes to Combeferre, Cosette and Éponine took care of the dishes while Enjolras sorted out papers that he’d let scatter in his briefcase from court that day.

“Do you go back into court tomorrow, love?” Éponine called over her shoulder as she washed a pan.

Enjolras nodded absentmindedly, before realizing she wasn’t looking at him. “Yes,” he called back. “Cosette, I’ll need you to be there tomorrow, too,” he added.

His younger sister came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a borrowed apron from Éponine. “What will you need?” she asked.

“Partway through the testimony, I’m going to call you and Father together to the front of the courtroom. You’ll stand at his side, turn to face the judge, and then the jury. I want you to make eye contact with each of them, as much as you can,” he explained. “This is the part where we try to prove him guilty.”

Cosette nodded. “I can do that, as long as I don’t have to say anything.”

Enjolras smiled for the first time in a while. “Don’t worry; Combeferre and I will do all the talking.”

 

After everything was taken care of from dinner, Cosette excused herself to get ready for bed, leaving Enjolras and Éponine in the living room alone. As they heard her door close, he could only wrap her in his arms, letting his cheek rest on her head. He closed his eyes, letting himself breathe in time with her. This was the most comforting thing he had experienced in a while.

“You’re going to be okay, love,” she said softly. “You can win this case. You have Combeferre on your side, and it sounds like you’re winning over the jury.”

He sighed softly. “I suppose I can hope, and pray.” He held her a little tighter, letting his hand stroke the top of her back. “And I have you,” he murmured softly, kissing her hair.

Éponine looked up at him with a smile, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Come on, I think Cosette had the right idea,” she chuckled softly, holding his hand and walking with him to their bedroom. He closed the door quietly, taking off his shoes and jacket as Éponine changed into a nightgown, climbing into bed. He joined her not long after, letting her curl up into his chest again. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”


	22. Revealing Her

_Enjolras had to be dreaming. He was sure of it. But this all felt too real for him to be sure…_

_He was back at the courthouse, the day Montparnasse had led the shooting that disrupted Thénardier’s trial. Gunshots and smoke pervaded every inch of the room, and he saw Éponine standing up, trying to hurry off the witness stand as quickly as she could…_

_“Éponine!” he barked from his station on the ground. “Get down from there, before they see you!”_

_She looked at him once, opening her mouth to respond, before Montparnasse walked straight up to her and shot her directly in the heart. Blood poured out her chest and her mouth, making her choke as she crumpled to the ground…_

_“NO!” he screamed in utter grief, scrambling to her, clutching her to his chest, staining his suit with her blood, before he felt the barrel of a gun being forced into his own mouth…_

_“You’ll see her again soon,” a sneering voice said behind him as a trigger was pulled in the distance…_

Enjolras shot bolt upright in bed with a strangled yell, grabbing at the air before he realized what he was doing and tried to catch his breath. A quick glance at the clock next to the bed told him it was a little after 5 am. He was covered in a hot sweat, the sheets were tangled around him, and Éponine was sitting up next to him, wrapping her arm around him and looking at him in worry.

“It’s alright, Enj, it was a dream,” she whispered softly. “What on earth happened?”

He swallowed hard, the phantom taste of gunmetal still in his mouth. “I was back at the courthouse, the day Montparnasse shot up your father’s trial…” he said softly. “You were trying to get off the stand, and I yelled at you to get down…but ‘Parnasse got to you before I did, and he shot you square in the heart,” he said. “Then he forced the barrel into my mouth…I heard him pull the trigger…and I woke up.”

Horror covered her face, and she pressed both hands to her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart,” Éponine whispered, holding him tightly to her chest and letting him try to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was terrible…” he murmured. “Because I don’t want to think about losing you like that.”

She took his face between her hands and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “You never will,” she said softly, before placing two gentle kisses on his lips. “I’m not going anywhere as long as you need me here.”

With a weak smile, he stroked her hair back from her face. “What did I do to deserve you?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” she smiled back, letting her hands fold loosely at the back of his neck while his cradled her face. “I think we would have found each other eventually.”

Enjolras kissed her lips once, as sweetly and chastely as he could. “I love you, Éponine.”

“I love you too, Enjolras.”

 

The sun rose all too soon, Enjolras’ eyes opening as it came in through the east-facing window next to his bed. With a quiet sigh, he extricated himself from Éponine’s warm embrace and got up to get ready for the next day of the trial. _At least this drudgery is almost over,_ he assured himself. _We can close soon, and then life will go on as normal…hopefully._

He heard Éponine take a deep breath as she stirred in the bed. “Mmh…Enj?”

“Right here, love,” he murmured softly, leaning over to gently kiss the top of her head before he went back to the closet to get out his suit. “How did you sleep?”

She rolled over a little. “Fine, after you gave me that little scare earlier,” she said. “I should be asking how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine; don’t worry,” he assured her. Truthfully, he was still incredibly shaken from his bloody nightmare. He knew his father was likely plotting a way to separate them, and murdering her likely wasn’t out of the question. He was doing everything in his power to protect her, but he feared it wouldn’t be enough.

He double-checked the room – he had his suit, tie, pocketwatch, and briefcase of papers; he was ready to go. “Alright; I’m off to court,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

She stood up from the bed to embrace him. “You don’t need it, but good luck,” she smiled. He let himself close his eyes again, rubbing her back gently as he held her close. He truly loved her, so much. “Let me know how everything goes today?” she murmured in his ear.

“Of course, just like always,” he said, kissing her lips gently. “I’ll see you tonight. I love you, Éponine.”

“I love you too, Enjolras.”

 

He took the drive to the courthouse a little slower than usual, thinking about his life, what was happening, how it had all come upon him so fast. In just the space of a few months, he had met Éponine, taken her out on two dates, and fallen in love with her, and she had started living with him. At the same time, the mother of his half-sister had come forward after nearly 30 years of living in silence on the streets, and had asked him to prosecute his father for his negligence.

_Amazing, how quickly these things can happen._

He gently steered down the next street, before the majestic façade of the courthouse came into view. He parked the car and sighed heavily as he watched judges and jurors streaming in. _It’s going to be a long day._

Combeferre caught his eye as he stepped out of the car, waving to him from the steps. Enjolras jogged lightly up the stairs to meet him. “What’s happening today?”

His friend chuckled. “What’s your hurry?”

Enjolras, on the other hand, was not so amused. “My hurry is to get this damn case over with,” he grumbled under his breath. “Does the defense have any witnesses lined up?”

“I haven’t heard yet. I suppose we’ll find out today,” Combeferre said as they walked in and towards the packed courtroom. As the trial had gained more and more outrageous publicity, the attendance grew and grew, but Enjolras noticed that Fantine kept her same seat in the back of the room.

Soon enough, the defense entered, followed by the judge, and the trial was back in session. “Mr. Johnson?”

“Your Honor, the defense will now hear the testimony of Frederick Combeferre.”

The jaws of both young prosecutor’s dropped, but Combeferre was undoubtedly more shocked than his best friend. _What on earth? How did Johnson get to him? What is he going to say?_ His head was spinning as he watched his tall, thin, gray-haired father walk to the bailiff.

“Mr. Combeferre, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Sit down, please.”

Combeferre was in shock as his father took the stand. This man, the man who raised him, was about to give a testimony against his side of the case. His teeth ground in fury as he watched Johnson walk forward and begin his questioning.

“Mr. Combeferre, can you recount to the jury the background of your relationship to my client?”

He sat up a little straighter, nervously adjusting his tie. “We met in law school, since we were both studying to be prosecutors, and we were fast friends. We started our own law practice together when we graduated, we were each the best man in the other’s wedding, and we raised our two sons together,” he said. “I can safely call Mr. Enjolras my best friend.”

From the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw his father nodding and smiling. It made him angrier for a reason he couldn’t explain.

“Can you recount your own version of the events that transpired the night of September 17, 1903?”

His best friend’s father shifted in his seat. “As Mr. Enjolras said, we were working a murder case together. It was completely baffling, the most difficult case we’d seen yet as lawyers.”

The questioning seemed to go on forever. Eventually, Combeferre got up to question his father, not unlike how Enjolras previously had in the trial. Enjolras had to grit his teeth and close his eyes to contain himself as his best friend’s father described, in detail, the events of that night. Combeferre was clearly having trouble keeping his composure as he probed deeper and deeper into his father’s testimony. “No further questions, Your Honor,” Combeferre said eventually, and returned to his seat. He looked frustrated, and Enjolras completely understood why. Questioning his father had clearly not swayed the jury in their favor. _Time to move to the nuclear option._

Leaning over, Enjolras motioned for his friend to do the same. “I think we should bring in Cosette now. Your father was the last ace they had up their sleeve.” Combeferre nodded once as Judge McDonald asked, “Prosecution?”

“The prosecution calls Cosette Tholomyés to the stand, Your Honor,” Enjolras declared in a strong, solemn voice.

A murmur ran through the courthouse, and Enjolras noticed Fantine nearly standing up in the back. This was the moment everyone had anticipated. Everyone wanted to know about the supposed illegitimate daughter of Richard Enjolras, Sr. All eyes were on the small woman of 28 years as she stood and walked almost soundlessly to the front of the courtroom, her head down as Enjolras had instructed her to do earlier that morning. She wore a white dress that fell to her knees and modestly covered her body. Her yellow hair was the only thing visible under her hat, the Russian veil even hiding a small portion of her face. She stopped in front of the judge, staring at her shoes.

“Mr. Johnson, please allow your client to step forward at this time.”

The defense was clearly unprepared for this. Johnson was fuming – Enjolras caught Combeferre grinning in satisfaction out of the corner of his eye – but their father cautiously stepped forward to stand between his children.

“Cosette?”

Looking up, she removed her hat in one swift motion, staring down the judge as her hair fell to her shoulders with her clear, pure blue eyes. Exactly the same as his.

Judge McDonald was openmouthed, unable to speak. “Turn to the jury, please. Both of you,” Enjolras instructed, turning also to look at the assembled men.

Cosette did as her brother said, causing the entire jury to gasp and erupt into whispering. Their father, on the other hand, could only mimic them. He stared at the girl, clearly marveling at how she resembled him, and even how she looked like her half-brother. _Your own seed was too strong for you, Father,_ Enjolras thought to himself.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he spoke loudly and clearly, “this woman is my sister. My father’s daughter. He may believe that he made a mistake in putting her in her mother’s belly, but that does not change the fact that she is family.” He took a second to look every member of the jury in the eye. “What kind of man would refuse to care for his own child?” He paused for effect, looking over everyone in the courtroom. “Ladies and gentlemen, anything else I could say would pale in comparison to the clear evidence before you. I believe your decision should be obvious.” With a nod to the judge, and a word to his sister, Enjolras returned to his seat at the bench, feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Judge McDonald seemed to be just regaining his composure. “Does the defense have a response?” he asked, still a little shell-shocked.

Mr. Johnson slowly stood and said in a terse voice, “The defense rests, Your Honor.”

Enjolras barely managed to hold down the huge sigh that wanted to escape from him. _It’s done. They can’t fight it anymore._

“This court will take a 30-minute recess for the jury to deliberate. We will reconvene at 9:30 am,” he said, hitting the gavel once. The sound reverberated, and it felt final. This whole mess was finally nearing its end.

Finally, Enjolras released his huge exhale. He turned to Combeferre, smiling, and the two men embraced each other. “We’ve done it,” his best friend murmured in his ear.

“Almost,” Enjolras replied. “I’ll celebrate if the jury sides with us.”

“You know they’ll never vote in that whore’s favor,” Mr. Johnson called to them loudly. “You just wasted a lot of money, boy.”

Enjolras’ face darkened, but his mood hardly went down. Even though the verdict hadn’t been delivered, the jury’s reaction had said all. There was no way they couldn’t find him guilty.

The 30-minute recess seemed to crawl to its close, but eventually, everyone filed back into the courtroom. The trial was called back into session by the bailiff, and Enjolras could barely contain his pounding heart as one of the jurors stood.

“The jury has reached a verdict, Your Honor.”

Enjolras closed his eyes.

“How do you find?”

“We find the defendant, Richard Heiland Enjolras, Senior, guilty on all charges.”

He opened them again, breaking out into his first true smile in months. His father and Mr. Johnson looked as though their heads were about to explode as the judge sentenced him to 30 days in prison and a $5,000 fine to be paid to Fantine. The moment he hit the gavel, Enjolras and Combeferre embraced, laughing for joy.

Their celebration was interrupted when a small, strong hand found Enjolras’ shoulder. He turned to meet Fantine’s gaze. “Thank you, Richard,” she murmured softly. “For everything.”

He smiled, hugging her gently. “It was the least I could do for you, Fantine.” Enjolras kissed his sister on the cheek, before turning back to Combeferre. “Come on, let’s go tell Éponine the good news.”

 

“So you’re ready to cook for the reception?”

“Check.”

“And the church is booked?”

“Yes.”

“And we have the dresses?”

“Check.”

“Alan, are the groomsmen ready?”

“They’ve all checked in.”

“Okay, I think we’re ready for the big day!” Éponine exclaimed as she went down her checklist. She and her sister simultaneously squealed in delight, embracing.

“I can’t believe I’ll be a _married woman_ in less than a week!”

“I’m so happy for you, ‘Zelma,” Éponine beamed as she hugged her baby sister.

Grantaire grinned, and the front door of the apartment suddenly opened. Enjolras and Combeferre strode in, clearly happy. “How’d it go?” she asked immediately, hurrying to her boyfriend’s side.

Enjolras was beaming ear to ear, the first real smile she’d seen from him since the case began. “The jury found him guilty on a 30-minute recess. Bringing Cosette up really sealed the deal.”

“Oh, honey!” Éponine exclaimed joyfully, hugging him tightly and kissing his lips. “I’m so glad.” She grinned, pulling Enjolras by his tie into the kitchen. “Come on, I know just the treat to celebrate. ‘Zelma, Alan, ‘Ferre, stay for dinner! Let’s all celebrate!”

The celebration lasted for hours, with plenty of Éponine’s cooking and a 1924 Malbec she’d been hiding in the spare cabinet. Enj and ‘Ferre had won their court case, and it was less than a week until her sister’s wedding.

Truth be told, she was somewhat upset with and confused by Enjolras not making the next move already. They’d been dating and living together longer than Azelma and Grantaire, and already, they were getting married. She started to wonder if he was content with where they’d plateaued, or if he had something up his sleeve…

“Éponine?” his voice jerked her out of her reverie. “Everything alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve never been happier, Enjolras.”

He smiled back, kissing her again. “I love you. So much. You know that, don’t you?” he murmured.

“I do.”


	23. Marrying Her

_July 14, 1931_

 

“Alright lads, are we ready?” Grantaire asked, looking around at his friends. The groomsmen were gathered in his apartment to prepare for the wedding, allowing Azelma and her bridesmaids the use of the church for their preparations.

“Just about, I think,” Enjolras answered, glancing around the room and checking his cufflinks for about the hundredth time. Combeferre was shrugging on his coat across the room, and Marius was adjusting his bowtie in front of the mirror. All of the men were a little nervous, Grantaire naturally most of all. His friends all understood his jitters, but were still unsuccessful in calming him.

“Enjolras, are you _positive_ you – ”

“I have them, Grantaire,” Enjolras laughed, taking the box out of the jacket pocket of his tuxedo and opening it to show him. “Here, look.”

There they sat, side by side – Azelma’s thin, light solitaire diamond, sautered to another thin band, and Grantaire’s thicker, unadorned gold band. He relaxed a little, watching Enjolras put them back into his tux, but was clearly still very tense about the whole day. “You have nothing to worry about, Grantaire,” Enjolras assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just relax.”

The groom’s smile grew a little. “Thank you, Enjolras. And…thank you for being my best man today.”

Now it was Enjolras’ turn to smile. “Of course. I’m proud to stand beside you today.” He looked down, gathering his thoughts for a moment, before looking up to speak again.

“I owe you an apology, Alan,” he said solemnly, looking his friend in the eyes. The other two had taken note of what they were saying and stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange. “I should not have been so cold to you all those years ago when you lost your father. You were deeply grieving, and I shirked my duty as your friend to be there for you. I cannot tell you how much I regret it. Can you forgive me?”

Grantaire was clearly shocked at Enjolras’ sudden apology and confession. He stared openmouthed at his best friend for a solid ten seconds, before stepping forward and embracing him. “Of course I forgive you, Enjolras.”

“Alright, cut the apologies, gents,” Marius laughed. “We have a wedding to get to!”

“Unless you’re no longer interested, Alan, in which case I will gladly step in,” Combeferre quipped.

Grantaire gave his friend a lighthearted shove, knowing that all he said was in good fun. “Well, I suppose I can’t keep my bride waiting all day, now can I?”

 

“Alright…” Éponine said slowly, stepping back from her sister’s stool, “open your eyes, ‘Zelma.”

The young bride did as instructed, and her jaw dropped. Éponine and Cosette giggled to each other, grinning at Sylvia. “Well? What do you think?” Cosette asked. “Did we do a good job?”

Azelma was speechless. She took a long moment to answer, still drinking in her image in the mirror. Sylvia had helped her get into her floor-length dress, which was all lace with a silken slip underneath. A cream ribbon was tied at her natural waist, under her modest V-shaped neckline, with a neat bow in the back. Her shoulders were covered by small lace cap sleeves. Cosette had done her hair into a neat updo, pinning in a Russian veil that fell gently over the left half of the bride’s face. Éponine had done her makeup, darkening her lips just slightly and lining her eyes to make them stand out.

“I don’t even recognize myself,” she whispered. She threw her arms around her sister, embracing her tightly. “Thank you so much, ‘Ponine.” She hugged her other bridesmaids in turn, thanking them for helping her get ready. She looked back at her sister, hugging her again, and even tighter. “I’m so excited for today.”

“It was nothing, Azelma,” Éponine murmured in her sister’s ear. “I love you so much.”

The bride held back joyful tears as she embraced her maid of honor. “Oh, ‘Ponine,” she said softly. “I love you too.”

Cosette and Sylvia allowed them a brief moment to themselves, before the latter said with a laugh, “Well come on, Azelma; you’ve got to get married!”

 

Grantaire had never been so nervous in his life.

He was standing at the front of the church with the minister, waiting for the attendants and then his bride to walk in the door. It was a small church, filled mostly with the families of the _Amis,_ though Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s fathers were notably absent, following the court ruling. Joly and Prouvaire had been in charge of seating the guests, who all leafed through their bulletins as the pianist started to play.

One by one, the three pairs of attendants stepped through the doors and into the sanctuary. Éponine and Enjolras entered first, arm in arm as maid of honor and best man. Marius and Cosette were behind them, with Combeferre and Sylvia bringing up the rear.

The bridesmaids wore sky blue silk dresses that fell just past their knees, carrying hydrangea bouquets of the same color. They had helped each other tame their hair into smooth buns that rested neatly on the backs of their heads; Éponine had a small strand curled next to her face.

The doors closed behind them. His friends took their places on either side of him and the priest. He took a deep, slow breath. This was it.

Joly and Prouvaire each opened a door…

And Grantaire couldn’t believe his eyes.

Azelma had always been the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Now, she surpassed what even he could have ever imagined. There were no words to do justice to how she looked at him walking down the aisle. True to the expression, she was blushing as she approached the altar to the slow, beautiful strains of Chopin, clutching a bouquet of pale blue hydrangeas and baby’s breath. She seemed to float like an angel as she came over to him, and when she handed her bouquet to Éponine and took his hands in hers, he felt as though he had never seen the bottom of a bottle.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the priest began. Éponine and Enjolras were smiling at the happy couple – and each other – all through the service. After they had exchanged their vows, Grantaire promising to love her and provide for her, Azelma promising to give him children and obey, all eyes turned to Enjolras.

In one smooth motion, the best man pulled and opened the ring box from his inside pocket, handing it to the priest. Once the rings had been blessed, Grantaire placed it on the fourth finger of Azelma’s left hand, and she did the same for him.

“Forasmuch as Alan and Azelma have made their vows before God and each other with the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce them man and wife, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” the priest intoned, making the sign of the cross over their joined hands. “You may kiss the bride.”

Grinning cheekily, Grantaire gently took Azelma’s chin in his hand and brought her lips to his. It was a rather chaste kiss – they were in a church, after all – but it was no less loving for its short timespan. They broke apart, both smiling more widely than they ever had, as the pianist played the recessional march to see them out.

Enjolras had loaned them his car for the day, and as they exited the church, it was parked just beneath the steps, decked in streamers and sporting a large “JUST MARRIED” sign off the back. The newlyweds hurried down the steps, their attendants just behind them, before they climbed into the front two seats and Grantaire drove away. “Now I just have to hope he doesn’t crash my car in his excitement,” Enjolras chuckled. “I still need that.”

Éponine couldn’t help but laugh, kissing her lover’s lips. “I’m sure he’ll be careful. He’s got precious cargo with him, after all.”

Enjolras looked at the woman he loved, marveling at how far they’d come in such a short time together. Involuntarily, his hand went up to stroke her hair. “I love you so much,” he said softly to her. “You know that, right?”

She smiled. “I do.”

A small shiver went down Enjolras’ spine when he heard her say those words. _Hopefully soon, we’ll be the ones at the front of a church, and she’ll say it to me again._

 

The reception was beautiful, but exhausting. Enjolras had danced with Éponine the most, of course, but he switched partners with Grantaire and Combeferre a few times as well, and of course he danced with his sister. He gave a brief speech, which was “just as rousing as one of his courtroom speeches,” according to Éponine. Azelma told him that her new husband had been moved.

A few laughs were had with the other _Amis_ , too. Combeferre, Joly and Prouvaire all wanted to take charge of the bar, while Marius was mostly content to sit in the back and exchange quiet words with Cosette. Their relationship seemed to be blossoming, if a little slowly, and Enjolras was glad that his younger sister was so happy.

Before long, it was time for the happy couple to depart. Enjolras and Éponine drove them over to their hotel, since he was only somewhat eager to regain custody of his car. Once they were checked in for the night, the two of them slowly drove home. They had the place to themselves, since Cosette was spending the night with Sylvia. Enjolras sighed softly as he dropped his keys into the bowl by the front door, shutting and bolting it as Éponine let her coat fall onto the edge of the couch. “What a day,” he said softly, running his hands over his face.

Éponine nodded in agreement. “What a day,” she echoed, almost tiredly. “I can’t believe my little sister is married.”

“I can’t believe Grantaire is the first of us _Amis_ to get married,” Enjolras laughed. “We always joked in law school that he would be the last.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Éponine closed her eyes, taking a moment to just breathe against his chest. Enjolras allowed his hand to gently run up and down her back, over the soft material of her dress. _This is all I want_ , he thought to himself, as he let his cheek rest on top of her head. _As long as I have her, I’m happy._

“Will you marry me, Éponine?” he asked softly, before he even realized the words had left his mouth.

She smiled broadly against his chest. “Of course.”

All of a sudden, Enjolras was taken aback. “Wait…really?” he asked, almost in surprise. “Oh God, I should have gotten a ring and flowers…wait, why am I still standing?” he said, hastily dropping to one knee.

Éponine laughed and knelt with him, cradling his face in her hands. “I don’t need a fancy proposal, as long as I have you,” she whispered, kissing him gently. “But a ring might be a good idea at some point…maybe before we tell the rest of the world.”

He laughed, pulling her into a close hug. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he grinned, kissing the top of her head. “The _Amis_ won’t believe this. Cosette and Marius will be shocked, too…oh God, what if they come to me, wanting to get married?”

“Azelma and Grantaire might have set off a chain reaction,” Éponine joked. Enjolras grinned, looking down at her. “Then I’m happy to be another link in the chain,” he said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	24. Loving Her, Part Four

When Enjolras awoke the next morning, he almost got up and went to the closet for another suit, out of habit. But as he slowly woke, he remembered closing the case, and he smiled to himself. This was the first morning in quite a few when he didn’t have to go to court. He snuggled in contentedly next to Éponine, who mumbled something in her sleep and nuzzled her face into his chest. “Good morning,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her head.

“Mmmmh…good morning,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice still quiet and heavy with sleep. He could hear the slight smile in her muffled speech, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He gently reached out to brush her hair back from her face, admiring how beautiful she was when she first woke up. _And I’m the one who gets to spend the rest of my life with her._ “We have a big day ahead of us,” he said, kissing her forehead and getting out of bed.

“Is that so?” she asked with a sleepy grin, which he promptly kissed away. “It is. It’s time to tell the rest of the world that you’re mine.” Éponine smiled widely at her fiancé. She loved even thinking that word, _fiancé_. “And you’re mine,” she whispered.

Enjolras returned her smile, holding her face between his strong hands. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispered back.

Éponine gave him one more lingering kiss before rolling over and getting up. She stretched and felt Enjolras’ eyes on her, so she added a little sway to her step as she sauntered to the bathroom, and heard him chuckling behind her. _Good,_ she thought smugly to herself.

She looked in the mirror as she started to brush out her hair. The woman looking back at her didn’t look any different than she had for a while, but she wasn’t the same one that Éponine had seen yesterday. She was engaged.

Oh God, she was engaged.

Had anyone told her a few months ago that she was going to get married to Richard Enjolras, she would have assumed they were drunk. Before she met him, she didn’t think there was any way she could marry so well. But that girl in the mirror was her, however unbelievable it seemed. And she was engaged to the man in the next room.

She heard Enjolras move around in their bedroom, and shook herself out of her daze. She needed to finish up in here and get dressed. He was right; it was going to be a very big day.

 

Half an hour later, they were strolling down the shopping street, and Éponine couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like a dream – walking down the road with her fiancé, on their way to get a ring she would wear for the rest of her life. She never wanted to wake up from this.

They stopped in front of Haniken Jewelers, and Éponine gently squeezed Enjolras’ elbow. He looked down at her, unable to stop grinning. “Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” she grinned, gently kissing him on the cheek. With an almost boyish grin, her fiancé squeezed the hand she had linked through his elbow, kissed her lips, and opened the door of the shop.

 

Éponine couldn’t stop admiring her new ring. Wasn’t it just that morning when she’d been thinking about how surreal it all felt? But the comforting weight on her finger made it all feel more solid, like it was actually happening.

It was a fairly simple ring, but beautiful nonetheless. It was silver, with a single diamond in the center, flanked by small swirling motifs in the band. It was the most gorgeous thing Éponine had ever seen; she fell in love with the setting – and then the diamond – as soon as the jeweler had shown them to her.

Enjolras chuckled next to her, bringing her back to the present. “Still happy with it?” he asked almost teasingly, kissing the top of her head.

She smiled. “I don’t think I could be any happier if I tried,” she said, letting her head gently rest on his arm as they walked. She linked her left hand through his elbow so that the diamond she wore was showing. “It still feels a bit like a dream…but it’s starting to feel more real.”

“I’m glad,” her fiancé responded with a smile.

“Well well well, look at you two out and about again!” Joly’s voice laughed. “Going back to a normal life after closing the case?” Marius, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre had joined him, smiling at their friend.

“Still working on that,” Enjolras laughed, letting go of his fiancée for just a moment to embrace his friend. “What are you doing out so early? All of you, as a matter of fact,” he laughed greeting each of them in turn.

“We all had some small errands to run around town and happened to run into each other,” Courfeyrac answered, still smiling. “Oh, and I don’t think I ever congratulated you on closing the case, but you did wonderfully!”

Enjolras grinned. “I did have some pretty great help,” he said, nodding to Combeferre, “and a great support system at home,” he said, kissing Éponine’s head. She wrapped her left hand back around his arm the way it had been before, and Joly was the first one to notice the change.

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze zeroing in on Éponine’s left hand.

Enjolras’ eyes followed his friend’s, and a furious blush rose to his cheeks, making him quickly look away from everyone around him. Éponine simply laughed, saving him by telling Joly, “You’re not too far behind on current events; we only just bought it.”

The _Amis_ quickly embraced their friends, congratulating them and insisting that they go out that night, and trying to pick someone to call Azelma and Grantaire. Éponine immediately shot down that plan, insisting that she would be the one to tell her sister herself. Joly insisted on a celebration, though, and demanded that they call him when Azelma and Grantaire knew. The other _Amis_ were immediately in agreement, and started shouting suggestions to each other about party preparations and ideas. Enjolras quickly stemmed the chaos and agreed to keep everyone informed of events as they happened.

“Well, I suppose we should find Azelma and Grantaire, shouldn’t we?” Éponine laughed as their friends dispersed. “Do you think they’ll be back at their apartment by now?”

Enjolras consulted his pocketwatch. “Half past nine? I suppose we could go back to our apartment to call them and see.”

 

The phone rang just as Azelma was stepping out of the shower. “Alan, could you get that?” she called from the bathroom.

Grantaire picked up the phone that sat on the small table next to their bed. “Hello?”

“Grantaire!” Éponine’s excited voice greeted him at the other end of the line. “Is Azelma up?”

“Hi, ‘Ponine; she just got out of the shower,” he answered, sitting down on the bed. “What can we do for you?”

Éponine tried not to giggle too much on the other end of the line. “Well, we were wondering if you were busy today. Richard and I were realizing that the four of us haven’t spent any time together since you two got engaged.

 _…She never calls him Richard,_ Grantaire thought to himself. “I’ll talk to Azelma and see if we have anything planned,” he said. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know.”

“Great. Thanks!”

“See you soon,” he replied, hanging up the phone.

“Who was that?” Azelma asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Your sister,” her husband laughed, standing up from the bed. “Apparently, she and _Richard_ want to see us today.”

Azelma raised an eyebrow. “She actually called him _Richard_? Something’s definitely up,” she said, going to the large chest of drawers to find a dress for the day. “Well, when do you want to meet them? Lunch sounds good to me.”

Grantaire nodded. “That’ll work. I’ll call her back.”

 

Éponine was almost nervous when they arrived outside the bistro. Obviously, her sister and brother-in-law would be happy for her and her _fiancé,_ but something was still nagging at her…

“Hey, you alright?” Enjolras asked, gently rubbing her shoulder. Something about her mood must have shown on her face.

She smiled at her sweetheart. He always knew when something was bothering her. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just a little nervous about meeting Azelma and Alan. I’m not really sure why.”

He kissed the top of her head gently. “Just relax.”

“I think we’ve both gotten so used to living on the edge of a metaphorical razor blade that it’s become a foreign concept,” she snorted as they arrived.

“You can say that again,” Enjolras muttered, briefly thinking of the grueling trial he’d endured, before shoving it to the back of his mind. He had the woman he loved at his side, and soon she was going to be his wife. He was truly happy now.

After they checked in, they quickly spotted Alan and Azelma waving to them from a corner table. Éponine made a point of keeping her left hand concealed as they walked over and embraced the pair, everyone exchanging greetings.

“Now, I don’t mean to insinuate that we weren’t delighted by your summons,” Alan chuckled, “but I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re a little curious as to why it came so out of the blue.”

Éponine barely managed to keep from giggling like a little schoolgirl. “Wellllllllll…”

Azelma gasped. “No…really?!” she asked, her eyes wide, but dancing with mirth.

Alan frowned at his wife. “What?” he said, looking back and forth between the sisters. “Am I missing something?”

Éponine couldn’t help herself any longer. With a huge grin crossing her face, she wordlessly let her left hand fly free of her lap, showing off the ring to both of them. Grantaire grinned. “I knew it wouldn’t be too long before you followed in our footsteps! Congratulations,” he said enthusiastically, even getting up to give his future sister-in-law a hug and clap his friend on the back.

Azelma didn’t hesitate to follow his example. “I’m glad you’re finally joining the family,” she said to Enjolras, giving him a hug.

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Enjolras responded with a smile, hugging her back. He was glad to have a family who would accept him after he’d worked so tirelessly to put his own father in jail – even if it was justified.

“Come on, let us buy you lunch,” Grantaire said with a broad grin as everyone sat back down.

“Alan, I couldn’t possibly – ”

“You did the same thing for us when we got engaged, did you not?” Azelma said with a smile. “Let us return the favor.”

Enjolras conceded with a smile. As he watched his friend converse eagerly with Éponine, he couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed. Briefly, he wondered if he had changed as much, before scoffing at the thought. Of course he had changed. Possibly more so than his friend.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Éponine said softly, breaking him from his reverie and putting her hand in his elbow.

“Just…noticing how much we’ve all changed,” he said softly.

“And a good thing it is, too,” Grantaire said jovially. He held up his glass to offer a toast. “To change. And to family.”

“And to love,” Azelma added, smiling at her sister.

“To happiness,” Éponine added.

“And to a new life together,” Enjolras concluded, never taking his eyes off his new fiancée. As their four glasses clinked together, Enjolras knew, without a doubt, that his life was irrevocably changed. But he wouldn’t change it for the world.


End file.
